' 


^M^o^^ 


/   "£7  V A> 


CHANTS  WITH  THE  SOUL 


CHANTS 
WITH    THE    SOUL 


BY 
EDWARD  ROBESON  TAYLOR 

n 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

PRIVATELY  PRINTED 

I92O 


COPYRIGHT,  I  920,  BY  EDWARD  ROBESON  TAYLOR 


THIS  BOOK  IS   DEDICATED  WITH   DEEP  AFFECTION 

TO  MY  SONS,  EDWARD  DEWITT  TAYLOR  & 

HENRY  HUNTLY  TAYLOR 


A 


***WILSON,  LAFAYETTE,  THE  AVIATOR,  and  THE  CHANT  OF 
VICTORY,  have  been  published  in  the  San  Francisco  Bulletin;  ON 
THE  WINGS  OF  WAR,  published  in  the  San  Francisco  Chronicle; 
and  EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL,  published  in  the  Pacific  Unitarian. 


CONTENTS 


THE  SATHER  TOWER 

THE  SAN  FRANCISCO  PUBLIC  LIBRARY  BUILDING          6 

IN  THE  KEITH  ROOM  9 

WITH  THE  POET  : 

THE  MIGHT  OF  POESY  15 

IN  THE  "REALMS  OF  GOLD"  16 

IN  THE  SILENT  NIGHT  17 

PARNASSUS  l8 

SCORN  NOT  THE  WEED  1Q 

THE  AGNOSTICS  2O 

THE  GARDEN  OF  HOPE  21 

THE  OLD  SCULPTOR  22 

VARIETY  23 

ON  THE  BEACH  AT  SAN  FRANCISCO  24 

IN  THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE  BOHEMIAN  CLUB, 

SAN  FRANCISCO  2$ 

THE  SONNET'S  FREEDOM  26 

TO  THE  SONNET  2J 

MY  DESPAIR  28 

THE  SONNET  TRAIL  2Q 

THE  MUSE  FINDING  THE  HEAD  OF  ORPHEUS  I 

A  STATUE  BY  EDWARD  BERGE  30 

WATTS-DUNTON  AND  THE  SONNET  3! 

POETRY  32 
WITH  NATURE  : 

THE  LEAST  AS  THE  GREATEST  34 

vii 


WITH  NATURE  (continued)  :  Page 

SUNSHINE  35 

A  CALIFORNIA  GARDEN  36 

TO  THE  TREE  37 

THE  MOUNTAIN  PEAK  38 

THE  VALLEY  39 

TWIN  PEAKS,  SAN  FRANCISCO  40 

THE  FLOWER  4! 

WONDER  42 

CLEARING  UP  AFTER  A  SHOWER  43 

A  SUMMER  AFTERNOON  44 

CREATION  45 

THE  CALIFORNIA  POPPY  46 
WITH  SOME  OF  THE  GREAT  I 

TO  JULIUS  CAESAR  48 

BYRON  49 

TO  EDWIN  MARKHAM  50 

EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL  51 

ON  CALIFORNIA'S  LEGISLATIVE  DECLARATION 

MAKING  INA  COOLBRITH  POET  LAUREATE  52 

JOHN  MUIR  53 

ON  READING  THE  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  THOMPSON 

BY  EVERARD  MEYNELL  54 

ON  READING  GEORGE  STERLING'S  BOOK  OF 
SONNETS  PUBLISHED  BY  THE  BOOK 

CLUB  OF  CALIFORNIA  55 

TO  LLOYD  MIFFLIN  56 

57 
viii 


WITH  SOME  OF  THE  GREAT  (continued)  :  Page 

BENJAMIN  IDE  WHEELER  58 

TO  HENRY  MORSE  STEPHENS  59 

HENRY  MORSE  STEPHENS  60 

FORREST  6l 

WILLIAM  HENRY  BEATTY  62 

JEREMIAH  LYNCH  63 

JESSE  WARREN  LILIENTHAL  64 

MARY  WEAVER  KINCAID  65 

TO  ROBERT  W.  SERVICE  66 

WILSON  67 

LAFAYETTE  69 
IN  VARIOUS  KEYS  : 

BOHEMIA  72 

A  CHANT  OF  VICTORY  73 

ON  THE  WINGS  OF  WAR  74 

THE  FLAG  75 

THE  YOUNG  AVIATOR  76 

ANGELS  77 

SAN  FRANCISCO  1Q12  78 
LOOKING  DOWN  ON  SAN  FRANCISCO  AT  NIGHT         79 

THE  COLUMNS  OF  THE  SUN  AT  BAALBEC  80 

THE  ORGAN  8l 

CHURCH-BELLS  82 

A  STREET  IN  OLD  MONTEREY  83 

A  CAGED  EAGLE  84 


IX 


IN  VARIOUS  KEYS  (continued)  :  Page 

AN  OLD  MINER  AT  SHASTA  WITH  THE  HAUNTS 

OF  OLD  85 

EGYPT  86 

TO  THE  MUMMY  OF  PRINCESS  ISIS  87 

THE  OLD  SWEETHEART  88 

THE  OLD  DOCTOR  89 

CARCASSONNE  90 

THANKSGIVING,  1918  92 

ON  NEW  YEAR'S  EVE  93 

LIFE'S  JEWELS  94 

RICHES  94 
DE  MORTUIS  : 

DEATH  96 

THE  GRAVE  97 

WHY  FEAR  1  98 

CONSOLATION  99 

LOVE  10O 

BEHOLD  THE  SEASONS  1O1 

BEHOLD  THE  SKIES  1O2 

PROOF  OF  GOD  103 

THE  SPIRIT'S  REALM  ICvJ 

RELIGION  105 

COMPLETENESS  106 

BELIEF  107 

LIFE  AND  DEATH  1O8 

MONSTER  OR  GOD  109 


CHANTS  WITH  THE  SOUL 


THE  SATHER  TOWER 
I 

A.BOVE  the  noise  and  tumult  of  the  day 
Thou  risest  to  the  silences  of  heaven, 
A  glorious  thing  from  even  unto  even, 
A  beauty's  vision  fading  not  away. 
It  must  have  been  a  more  than  blessed  dream, 
When  all  the  feelings  rose  conjointly  wise 
Against  the  glamour  of  some  worldly  scheme, 
That  moved  her  heart  to  raise  thee  to  the  skies, 
Where  thou  in  all  thy  veins  of  steel  and  stone 
With  Aspiration's  purest  blood  shall  thrill, 
As  evermore  around  thee  shall  be  sown 
The  seeds  of  Learning  and  of  Righteous  Will, 
And  back  of  thee  the  radiant,  everlasting  hill. 


Gigantic  flower  thou,  whose  beauty  beams 

With  unimagined  loveliness  of  Art, 

Of  all  the  campus  blossoming  the  heart 

And  sublimated  essence  of  its  dreams ; 

Giving  the  fragrance  of  unwonted  blooms 

In  many  a  far-away,  delightsome  dell, 

Or  where  the  cypress  builds  her  heavy  glooms, 

Or  e'en  where  mild-eyed  fairies  love  to  dwell ; 

Where  books  disclose  their  magic-working  lore, 

And  cast  their  cunning  lures  for  stumbling  feet, 

While  sweets  as  strange  as  life  their  joyance  pour, 

C   *   3 


Till  all  the  moments  in  one  round  complete 
Within  the  arms  of  concord  pleasurably  meet. 

3 

The  fateful  hours  of  the  passing  day 

From  thee  shall  ever  musically  peal, 

And  through  the  somnolence  of  night  shall  steal, 

Till  lost  in  whispering  echoes  far  away. 

Perpetual  guardian  thou,  whose  tongue  shall  tell 

The  lesson  learnt  in  Indolence's  bowers, 

When  idle  thoughts  the  idle  bosom  swell, 

And  Time  unreaped  its  wretched  prey  devours. 

Yet  shall  thy  bells  of  ever-present  cheer 

Hearten  the  struggle  of  laborious  souls, 

And  Trade  herself  will  turn  a  listening  ear, 

As  she  pursues  her  daily  myriad  goals, 

When  mid  her  roar  thy  golden  voice  the  minute  tolls. 

4 

With  hoary-headed  Time  a  friend  thou'lt  be, 

And  play  with  years  as  with  fresh-hearted  things 

As  thy  emblazoned  crest  forever  springs 

Into  the  wondering  air  divinely  free. 

Here  shall  ambitious  youth  its  vans  wide  spread 

For  flights  beyond  the  rosiest  dreams  of  hope ; 

Or  if  perchance  on  indolences  fed 

With  adverse  circumstance  it  fails  to  cope, 

The  sight  of  thee  upsoaring  lone  and  high, 

With  Aspiration  as  thy  soul  and  seal, 

C   2   3 


And  Admonition  blazing  in  thine  eye, 

Will  rouse  it  like  a  battle's  trumpet  peal 

To  every  glorious  thrill  Achievement  dares  to  feel. 

5 

So  firmly  dost  thou  grip  the  rocky  ground, 

Thy  beauteous  form  the  earthquake  might  assail, 

And  storms  upon  thee  all  their  fury  hail, 

Yet  scatheless  at  the  last  thou  wouldst  be  found. 

Still  thou  dost  seem  the  airiest  of  things, 

With  lofty  crest  which  glitters  in  the  air, 

That  blooms  by  day  a  flower  with  radiant  wings, 

At  night  a  beacon  shining  starlike  there. 

So  ever  may  the  men  and  women  here 

Foundationed  be  in  nobleness  of  soul, 

Unshaken  by  the  raging  storms  of  fear, 

A  shining  light  for  every  worthy  goal, 

Undaunted  by  life's  waves  however  mad  they  roll. 

6 

Thy  roots  strike  deeper  than  the  claws  of  steel, 
And  bolts  and  bonds  that  hold  thee  in  thy  place, 
For  those  are  deep  as  universal  space, 
And  wide  as  every  longing  we  can  feel : 
They  reach  the  great  ideals  that  ever  blaze 
Around  the  empurpled  summits  of  desire, 
Until  as  conquering  Gods  we  bless  our  days 
With  nurturing  breath  of  their  eternal  fire ; 
They  stimulate  the  weary  and  the  weak 

C     3     3 


To  march  still  onward  though  the  road  be  hard, 

And  Difficulty's  crown  rejoice  to  seek 

Though  every  passageway  be  doubly  barred, 

And  watchful  dragons  stand  relentless  on  their  guard. 

7 

Symbol  of  Truth,  thou  ever-precious  one ; 

Thy  winged  word  speaks  from  thy  columned  stone 

With  voice  as  clear  as  that  of  some  dim,  lone, 

Ice-crowned  peak  far  reaching  to  the  sun. 

It  wakes  our  bosom's  golden-hearted  lyre, 

Until  in  music  of  seraphic  strain 

It  lifts  our  thoughts  from  every  low  desire 

Up  to  the  wisdom  of  celestial  gain ; 

And  may  thy  bells  ring  out  in  clarion  sound 

Truth's  sacred  gospel  to  the  willing  breeze, 

Till  all  this  place  in  Tightness  be  renowned, 

And  till  adventuring  youth  in  season  sees 

What  is  Life's  vital  wine,  and  what  its  worthless  lees. 

8 

Beauty  breathed  gratefulness  when  thou  wast  planned : 

She  saw  herself  in  brilliancy  anew, 

Until  from  steel  and  stone  there  nobly  grew 

A  marvellous  thing  transfiguring  the  land. 

She  saw  her  child  as  with  immortal  breath 

Swell  to  the  roots  with  heaven-approving  pride, 

As  he  who  drew  thy  lines  beyond  all  death 

In  triumph  stood  serenely  by  thy  side. 

C     4     3 


The  Muse  had  roamed  the  chambers  of  his  soul, 
Where  domes  and  towers  of  song  were  glad  to  be, 
And  there  he  saw  thee  as  his  perfect  goal, 
In  all  the  splendors  of  thy  high  degree, 
Thy  inexpressible,  divine  simplicity. 

9 

Thou  ceaseless  monitor  of  worthy  deeds, 

We  greet  thee  here  as  some  familiar  friend, 

Who  blessing  gives  us  that  can  have  no  end, 

And  all  ennoblement  forever  breeds. 

Imagination  sees  upon  thy  sides 

The  golden  names  of  those  that  never  die ; 

With  those  rare  ones  that  hid  their  latent  prides, 

Yet  did  their  work  that  others  raised  on  high ; 

With  these  thy  stones  in  living  glory  blaze, 

Thy  column  seems  to  pierce  the  vaulted  skies, 

And  as  we  longer  and  the  longer  gaze, 

A  reverential  incense  seems  to  rise 

And  wreathe  itself  in  hallowed  words  of  holy  praise. 


C    5 


THE  SAN  FRANCISCO  PUBLIC  LIBRARY 
BUILDING 

I 

WHILE  the  mad  clamors  of  world-shaking  war 

Have  stunned  the  sickened  ear  and  rived  the  heart, 

While  men  in  millions  have  in  valor  kissed 

The  awful  lips  of  sanguinary  death, 

While  blood  and  tears  in  horror's  streams  have  flowed 

As  if  all  agonies  were  in  their  depths, 

While  great  cathedrals,  hallowed  and  sublime, 

Beloved  of  all  the  ages,  have  been  slain, 

While  devastation's  unrelenting  hand 

Has  crushed  the  hearted  homes  of  joy  and  thrift, 

Till  even  pity  can  no  longer  weep, 

Peace  has  erected  this  majestic  pile, 

And  placed  on  it  her  everlasting  crown. 

While  war's  dread  uproars  shook  the  frighted  earth, 

The  binding  rivets  pierced  its  sides  of  steel, 

And  all  its  stones  were  then  in  order  laid, 

Till  consummation  rose  triumphant  here. 

And  she  the  City  of  our  heart  of  heart 

Adds  one  more  jewel  to  her  dauntless  breast, 

A  jewel  all  immaculate  and  pure. 


O  thou,  great  architecture's  favored  child, 
The  product  of  our  Kelham's  mind  and  heart, 
And  of  those  artisans  whose  wondrous  skill 

C     6     3 


In  order  followed  what  he  had  designed, 

I  kneel  before  thee  with  my  heart  so  full, 

That  though  my  praises  ran  without  an  end, 

And  though  the  Muses  fed  my  great  desire, 

I  would  remain  thy  hopeless  debtor  still, 

I  yet  would  stand  before  thee  wonder-rapt. 

Thou  art  indeed  made  perfect  to  contain 

The  written  thoughts  of  all  the  sons  of  men, 

To  fructify  the  human  soul  as  they 

Have  ever  done  since  speech  has  blest  the  world. 

Here  safely  housed  these  tongues  of  all  the  past 

Will  speak  their  wisdom  to  the  young  and  old, 

And  never  weary  in  their  gracious  task. 

Surrounded  by  the  greatest  and  the  best 

What  intellectual  soul  would  ask  for  more; 

Or  should  you  wish  to  ramble  o'er  the  page 

With  visions  charming  you  at  every  turn, 

Here  are  the  books  that  willingly  will  lead 

Your  steps  through  all  the  ways  you  wish  to  go. 

Science  is  here  with  all  her  certitudes, 

And  sweet  Religion  with  her  restful  peace, 

While  Art  with  welcoming  cheer  and  radiant  smile 

Trails  her  great  glory  o'er  full  many  a  page ; 

Here  Poesy  outspreads  her  dewy  wings 

To  dare  the  deep  recesses  of  the  heart ; 

Philosophy  is  here  in  sober  gray, 

With  all  her  weighty  problems  still  unsolved, 

And  History  comes  with  her  imperial  stride 

Bearing  the  life-drawn  word  of  centuries  past; 

C     7    n 


Biography  unrolls  her  marvellous  tales 

Of  those  illustrious  men  who  conquered  fate, 

While  Fiction  far  extends  her  rapturing  scroll 

To  tell  us  of  experience  not  our  own. 

Allurement  here  is  graciousness  itself, 

And  fills  the  moments  with  a  new  delight, 

For  should  the  book  be  leaden  in  your  hands, 

Your  eye  may  wander  to  the  art-crowned  scene 

That  glows  with  beauty  wheresoe'er  you  look, 

And  as  you  drink  the  luxury  of  the  hour 

The  joy  of  thankfulness  will  brim  your  heart. 

3 

My  own  dear  City,  I  bow  down  in  thanks, 
Which  rise  above  the  level  of  my  verse, 
That  out  of  thy  supreme  munificence 
Has  come  to  us  this  latest,  precious  gift. 
It  tells  us  that  thou  art  in  soul  so  great 
Thou  still  canst  mount  the  far-uptowering  peaks, 
And  robed  in  glory  rule  sublimely  there ; 
That  as  in  thy  tremendous,  trying  past, 
When  fire  and  temblor  spent  themselves  in  vain, 
So  in  thy  future  spreading  vast  and  grand, 
Thou  shalt  look  nobly  down  on  every  fate, 
And  hold  thy  nestling  children  in  thine  arms 
Securely  safe  beneath  thy  boundless  love. 


C 


IN  THE  KEITH  ROOM 
I 

UPON  these  walls  his  glorious  children  breathe, 
And  once  again  I  sense  his  presence  near, 
As  in  the  past,  when  we  sat  heart  to  heart 
And  felt  the  stir  of  loving  comradeship. 
'Twas  then  I  knew  the  bloom  of  all  the  years 
Would  rest  forever  on  his  endless  toil, 
And  that  the  dullards  of  an  unborn  age 
Would  have  their  eyes  made  bright,  their  hearts 

refreshed, 

For  that  his  spirit  once  made  glad  the  earth. 
And  as  we  sit  and  almost  feel  the  touch, 
As  'twere  unloosening  all  the  bonds  of  death, 
We  joy  to  see  his  lovers  thronging  in, 
And  as  they  stand  in  rapturous  praise  before 
His  pictures  which  illuminate  these  walls, 
We  hail  an  immortality  that  breaks 
In  waves  of  splendor  on  his  honored  head, 
And  in  each  moment  of  the  day  exult 
That  where  his  canvases  ennoble  life, 
The  incense  rises  of  unmeasured  praise. 


No  mood  of  nature  but  his  art  has  touched, 

And  given  to  man  with  his  transfiguring  sense: 

The  Dawn  for  him  in  silent  mystery  shod 

Has  climbed  the  peaks  till,  lost  we  know  not  where, 

C    9    3 


The  sunlit  morning  bathed  the  glowing  scene ; 
In  truth  he  noted  Day  in  all  its  hours, 
Whether  its  feet  were  weighted  as  with  lead, 
Or  borne  along  on  Mercury's  airy  wings  ; 
Whether  its  clouds  were  filled  with  Storm's  mad 

rage, 

Or  in  their  breast  were  nestled  gentle  dreams ; 
Whether  the  earth  was  wrapped  in  mist  and  rain, 
Or  the  great  vault  of  heaven's  far-reaching  sky 
Bared  her  cerulean  bosom  to  the  Day, 
And  every  voice  proclaimed  serene  repose. 
And  when  the  Twilight  binds  the  tired  hours 
With  her  soft,  silken  cords  of  solemn  hush, 
How  he  has  made  us  feel  that  magic  time, 
Until  all  nature's  everlasting  heart 
Seemed  breathing  closely  to  our  very  own. 
What  voices  have  we  heard  in  revery  then 
As  his  imaginings  filled  all  the  air. 
So  when  the  noisy  Day  has  come  to  die, 
What  royal  couches  has  he  spread  for  it, 
Whereon  it  might  in  more  than  sumptuous  state 
Breathe  out  upon  the  land  its  latest  breath. 
What  mysteries  steal  through  his  unfathomed 

woods, 

What  solemn  awe  comes  from  their  inward  depths, 
As  though  some  special  wonder  kinged  it  there. 
The  Meadow's  lovely  voice  was  his  to  know 
And  bring  it  closer  to  the  vulgar  ear 
Until  the  pastoral  was  a  heavenly  joy, 

C  'o  3 


And  humble  things  of  knowledges  the  best. 

How  oft  with  him  we  trailed  the  cropping  sheep 

Obedient  to  the  shepherd  on  their  way 

Unto  the  restful  sheepfold  and  the  night, 

As  down  the  western  heavens  far-flamed  the  sun 

In  all  the  splendor  of  his  day's  farewell. 


Labor  to  him  was  ever  sweet  as  is 

The  choicest  loaf  unto  a  starving  man, 

And  on  it  he  perpetually  fed. 

But  he  was  human  to  his  finger-tips, 

And  loved  his  fellow  to  the  deepest  depths. 

He  met  him  with  his  heart's  unbounded  cheer, 

And  often  talked  with  him  of  idle  things. 

All  nature's  children  were  to  him  divine, 

And  every  bird  and  flower  could  proudly  say, 

Not  one  of  us  has  fallen  by  his  hand. 

In  truth  he  was  of  virtue  all  compact, 

A  man  as  worthy  to  be  deeply  loved 

As  any  man  who  ever  drew  a  breath. 

The  fairies  at  his  birth  in  full  foretold 

That  natural  beauty  would  command  his  heart, 

And  so  his  life  was  prodigally  spent 

In  loving  service  at  his  Muse's  shrine, 

Where  nought  escaped  his  sympathetic  eye 

Or  prayed  his  recognition  all  in  vain. 

He  knew  the  oak  as  mother  knows  her  child, 

And  when  it  on  its  breathing  canvas  shone 

C  »  3 


In  all  its  regal,  orbed  magnificence 

It  told  us  something  never  told  before. 

His  Art  is  ever  intimate  and  close, 

As  is  the  open  heart  of  some  dear  friend, 

And  draws  us  to  it  as  a  magnet  draws, 

The  while  it  speaks  of  those  infinitudes 

Which  bring  us  close  to  everlasting  things. 

4 

What  is  this  vast,  stupendous  universe, 

With  all  its  timely,  great  eternities, 

Its  countless  worlds  that  hang  so  far  in  space, 

But  the  expression  of  the  mind  divine  *? 

And  some  of  that  small  part  in  which  we  breathe 

Keith  sought  in  terms  of  color  to  make  plain 

To  us  who  else  might  rest  in  ignorance. 

Base  imitation  had  his  ardent  scorn ; 

He  knew  its  devotees  were  false  to  all 

That  nestled  closely  at  the  feet  of  Art, 

And  did  but  grope  among  the  husks  of  things, 

While  all  around  the  kernels  lay  profuse. 

To  this  great  work  his  life  was  all  devote : 

No  holidays  held  off  his  hand,  no  play, 

But  noble,  conscientious  work  filled  up 

The  chaliced  measure  of  his  golden  hours. 

Life  was  to  him  a  sacred,  solemn  thing 

And  not  a  bauble  for  the  world  of  sport, 

Or  for  the  idle  frivol  of  the  time. 

He  did  not  deem  his  work  more  full  or  great 

C  I2  1 


Than  that  of  other  thinking,  toiling  men, 

But  that  which  had  been  given  him  to  do 

Was  what  his  mind  and  hand  could  do  the  best. 

Sincerity  was  of  his  spacious  soul 

The  very  jewel  without  speck  or  flaw, 

And  modesty  to  him  was  as  a  robe. 

He  was  a  poet,  but,  like  other  men 

Who  in  the  field  of  genius  grandly  sweep, 

The  practical  had  chambers  in  his  breast, 

Wherein  were  bravely  wrought  material  things. 

Each  phase  of  life  he  touched  with  equal  ease, 

And  from  them  all  he  garnered  equal  wealth. 

Religion  kept  her  consecrated  fires 

Upon  the  sacred  altar  of  his  soul, 

And  there  in  vestal  purity  they  blazed. 

He  voyaged  not  upon  the  sea  of  creeds 

In  search  of  harbors  for  his  spirit's  rest, 

But  all  the  vasty  universe  was  his, 

Whereon  omnipotent,  eternal  power 

Blazed  on  the  bosom  of  each  lustrous  star, 

Not  blindly  fashioned  by  unreasoning  force 

But  by  an  order  of  his  soul  divine. 

So  this  plain,  simple  man  pursued  his  course, 

A  loving  toiler  in  the  ways  of  men, 

Thinking  great  thoughts,  and  doing  mighty  things 

Which  shall  adorn  the  breast  of  Beauty's  own 

Till  Time  and  Beauty  shall,  if  ever,  part. 

Hail  and  farewell,  thou  duty-governed  man ! 

Hail  and  farewell,  thou  good  as  well  as  great ! 

C    '3    3 


WITH  THE  POET 


THE  MIGHT  OF  POESY 

v_y  YE  whose  world  is  bounded  by  the  light 
That  pours  its  daily  wonder  in  your  eyes, 
And  see  no  more  of  life  than  that  which  lies 
In  hourly  struggle  and  in  graveyard  night, 
Know  nought  of  Poesy's  mysterious  might, 
That  bids  the  creatures  of  the  heart  to  rise, 
And  panoramas  all  the  land  and  skies 
With  dream-born  children  infinitely  bright. 

Imagination  in  its  utmost  reach 
Of  lightning-pinioned,  mountain-soaring  speech 
She  gives  ungrateful  man  in  affluent  store ; 
She  shows  him  Nature  with  transfiguring  voice, 
Which  interfused  with  Music's  magic  lore 
Makes  him  with  all  divinest  things  rejoice. 


C    '5   3 


IN  THE  "REALMS  OF  GOLD" 

I  ROAMED  a  dreamer  in  the  "Realms  of  Gold," 
Where  Poets'  graves  innumerable  stood, 
And  where  within  a  neighboring  cypress  wood 
Their  lines  in  fadeless  letters  were  enscrolled. 
To  men  they  had  their  costliest  treasures  told 
Who  mammon-souled  passed  by  in  heedless  mood, 
Nor  even  bent  to  list  the  Muse's  brood 
When  their  most  rapturing  chords  in  passion  rolled. 

And  as  I  wandered  filled  with  dreams  of  these 
That  clustered  round  my  templed  memories, 
While  blooms  of  beauty  starred  the  golden  ground, 
A  ghostly  band  imparadised  the  air, 
Who  with  celestial  glory  then  were  crowned, 
And  sang  in  chorus  most  divinely  there. 


C    '6 


IN  THE  SILENT  NIGHT 

JT1.OW  hushed  the  silence  of  the  silent  Night, 
When  kingly  Day  has  lowered  his  haughty  crest, 
And  cares  and  troubles  in  unruffled  rest 
Amid  the  stillness  lose  their  harrowing  might. 
Then  tricksy  fairies,  dreamy  with  delight, 
Flit  through  the  brain  with  unabated  zest, 
To  open  visions  at  the  soul's  behest, 
All  tremulous  with  hope  that  fears  no  blight. 

'Tis  then  that  quiet  feeds  the  poet's  heart, 

And  on  the  wings  of  his  supernal  art 

He  mounts  to  heights  alone  his  brethren  know — 

The  heights  where  asphodelian  flowers  bloom, 

Where  joy  springs  buoyant  from  the  groans  of  woe, 

And  tears  are  jewels  on  the  breast  of  gloom. 


C    '7 


PARNASSUS 

B\RNASSUS  rises  from  the  "Realms  of  Gold' 
In  various  ways  of  soul-created  song ; 
Some  to  the  slopes  and  lofty  peaks  belong, 
While  the  great  few  to  skyward  reaches  hold. 
All  cannot  breathe  the  ethereal  airs  that  fold 
The  summits  where  imaginations  throng, 
But  they  may  foot  the  valleys  as  their  strong 
Yet  tender  stories  are  serenely  told. 

The  wise  seek  not  the  glory-crowned  seat, 
Nor  long  to  hear  their  wings  in  triumph  beat, 
Nor  feast  on  praises  of  adoring  friends ; 
But  e'en  the  lowliest  one  can  serve  the  Muse, 
And  they  who  greatly  seek  the  humblest  ends 
Are  those  dear  ones  she  lovingly  bedews. 


C 


SCORN  NOT  THE  WEED 

IVl  Y  brother,  do  not  cast  thy  scornful  eyes 
Upon  the  humblest  weed  that  struggling  blows, 
For  at  its  inmost  heart  such  glory  glows, 
Hadst  thou  the  mind  to  see,  as  lights  the  skies. 
The  great  chrysanthemum,  that  nobly  vies 
In  regal  beauty  with  the  proudest  rose, 
In  all  its  gorgeousness  of  mien  still  shows 
Its  humble  origin  in  every  guise. 

What  soul  may  tell  in  this  vast  scheme  of  things 
What  depths  divine  to  the  immortal  clings, 
Or  see  the  source  of  every  true  desire  9 
It  is  sufficient  if  we  choose  to  know 
That  all  is  born  of  some  celestial  fire, 
Which  ofttimes  makes  an  angel  of  the  low. 


c  '9  n 


THE  AGNOSTICS 

ON  READING  THE  "MEMORIES"  OF  EDWARD  CLODD 

1 N  worship  of  the  Sciences  that  rear 

Their  austere  summits  in  ethereal  air, 

In  calm  superiority  they  fare 

Along  the  "Don't-know"  road  they  domineer. 

'Tis  Reason's  voice  alone  that  claims  their  ear, 

And  this  gives  certitude  to  their  despair, 

While  Intuition,  deeply  hearted  where 

Life  speeds  divinely  on,  they  scorn  to  hear. 

Oh,  can  it  be  that  of  this  grandeur's  space 

We  can  grasp  nought  but  that  its  wondrous  race 

Is  but  the  product  of  some  errant  force ; 

That  all  this  miracle  proclaims  no  God, 

No  soul-inspiring,  spiritual  Source, 

And  that  great  man  himself  is  but  a  clod? 


C 


THE  GARDEN  OF  HOPE 

JTl  OPE'S  garden  springs  in  every  human  breast, 
Where  fadeless  blossoms  grow  beneath  his  care, 
While  melodies  delight  the  fragrant  air 
That  folds  us  in  an  atmosphere  of  rest. 
The  gorgeous  castles  roseate  clouds  invest, 
And  argosies  no  storm  can  harm  are  there, 
With  maidens  incommunicably  fair, 
Whom  Revery  leads  to  dreamlands  of  the  blest. 

At  times  the  North  Wind  breathes  upon  the  blooms, 
Until  Despair  makes  mock  amid  his  glooms, 
With  Faith  a  mourner  helpless  in  her  tears ; 
But  Hope,  divinely  radiant  of  mien, 
Scatters  full  soon  the  host  of  coward  fears, 
And  rules  once  more  triumphant  and  serene. 


C 


THE  OLD  SCULPTOR 

1  HE  plow  of  age  has  furrowed  all  his  face, 
And  by  the  weight  of  years  his  form  is  bent ; 
The  fires  that  once  were  in  his  bosom  pent 
Burn  feebly  now  where  fled  is  every  grace. 
In  this  old,  shuffling  man  we  find  no  trace 
Of  earth's  ambitions  save  to  be  content 
To  dwell  apart  and  give  his  nature  vent 
In  carving  things  that  Art  would  fain  embrace. 

Does  Beauty  come  from  Beauty's  self  alone*? 
Ah,  no ;  the  pine  makes  proud  the  mountain  stone, 
The  rose  blooms  greatly  on  the  ordured  heap ; 
The  ugliest  shape  the  noblest  soul  may  bear, 
And  as  this  thought  into  the  mind  sinks  deep 
The  aged  sculptor  seems  transfigured  there. 


C 


VARIETY 

VARIETY  is  Nature's  pregnant  sign 
That  in  creation  does  itself  disclose ; 
Minutest  change  from  great  to  small  she  shows 
In  every  shrub  and  flower  and  clustering  vine ; 
For  closely  scan  this  heaven-aspiring  pine, 
Its  needles  vary  as  it  upward  grows, 
And  note  with  care  this  beauty-crested  rose, 
Whose  every  petal  takes  a  new  design. 

So  Life  is  neither  wholly  good  nor  bad, 

But,  with  celestial  armor  ever  clad, 

It  sweeps  the  universe  with  conquering  wings. 

Men  vary  as  the  leaves  upon  the  tree, 

But  'tis  for  them  to  heed  the  voice  that  sings 

Eterne  on  Virtue's  lips  in  every  key. 


C 


ON  THE  BEACH  AT  SAN  FRANCISCO 

1  HOU  myriad-hearted  Ocean,  on  whose  breast 

That  stretches  boundlessly  its  waste  of  gray, 

Mine  eye  is  fain  in  indolence  to  play, 

As  all  my  thoughts  to  quiet  are  caressed. 

I  watch  thy  surge  build  high  its  curving  crest, 

To  break  in  lacelike,  delicate  array, 

Where  children  plash  inordinately  gay, 

While  age-dimmed  eyes  with  newer  light  are  blest. 

Thou  one  of  every  mood,  I  see  thee  now 

With  God's  beneficence  upon  thy  brow, 

With  all  that's  awful  in  thy  raging  might ; 

Yet  though  men's  bones  in  millions  pave  thy  floor, 

And  treasures  vast  thou  seal'st  in  caves  of  night, 

Angels  of  good  still  tend  thee  evermore. 


C 


IN  THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE  BOHEMIAN 
CLUB,  SAN  FRANCISCO 

WlTH  finger  on  her  lip,  Silence  sits  here 

In  languorous  robes  of  gossamer  bedight, 

As  veiled  in  softness  of  the  sifted  light 

She  seems  so  deeply,  infinitely  dear. 

Poet,  Philosopher,  Historian,  Seer, 

These,  from  their  book-built  thrones  which  thrill 

the  sight, 

Appeal  with  eloquence  of  loving  might 
To  feed  our  souls  on  their  exhaustless  cheer. 

Ye  glorious  Gods  of  men,  grant  that  we  may 
Your  subjects  be  when  strident  grows  the  day, 
Or  leaden  spirits  lag  through  wearied  brains ; 
Then  shall  we  roam  o'er  fields  of  thought  sublime, 
And  far  beyond  the  realm  where  Mammon  reigns 
Defy  the  hateful  tyranny  of  Time. 


C   *5   3 


THE  SONNET'S  FREEDOM 

WHY  laboring  spin  your  cobweb  sonnets,  you 
That  might  some  lofty  tower  of  song  design ; 
Why  in  a  cage  great  Poesy  confine 
When  all  the  boundless  ether  lies  in  view  ? 
Ah,  critic  friend,  within  the  narrowest  mew 
Pearls  have  been  born  so  preciously  divine 
They  bear  the  Muse's  most  incorporate  sign, 
And  deathless  live  as  beautiful  as  true. 

The  souls  that  have  the  Sonnet  sanctified 
Felt  it  no  prison,  but  with  bars  as  wide 
As  has  the  ocean  or  the  starlit  air ; 
The  small  in  size  may  have  the  largest  heart, 
And  in  the  sight  of  all  the  Muses  bear 
Upon  its  breast  the  conquering  badge  of  Art. 


c 


TO  THE  SONNET 

JL  HESE  many,  many  years  I've  toiled  o'er  thee, 
Pursued  thine  octave's  hard  and  thorny  way, 
And  sought  thy  sestette's  mandates  to  obey, 
That  mine  one  perfect  flower  of  song  might  be — 
A  bloom  so  moulded  by  thy  form's  decree, 
Its  various  music  in  melodial  play, 
That  it  could  tempt  the  generous  Muse  to  say, 
Behold  your  hope  of  immortality. 

But  vain  the  task  if  I  could  bend  the  bow ; 
The  Sonnet  is  despised  though  it  could  know 
The  loveliest  numbers  of  elysian  spheres — 
The  form  that  Dante,  Petrarch,  Angelo 
Blest  with  divinest  song ;  where  Keats  careers, 
And  Wordsworth's  myriad  strains  sublimely  flow. 


MY  DESPAIR 

JLHOU  precious  Sonnet,  casket  ever  dear, 
Compacted  jewels  aggregate  in  thee 
Of  such  immeasurable,  high  degree, 
That  none  of  thine  own  race  can  be  thy  peer. 
Thou  hast  upborne  the  strains  of  many  a  near 
And  many  a  distant  Muse's  devotee, 
Who  have  on  song's  illimitable  sea 
Voyaged  to  harbors  of  eternal  cheer. 

I  can  but  own  thou  hast  been  good  to  me, 

For  time  and  oft,  beneath  thy  just  decree, 

My  prayers  were  answered  at  thy  sacred  shrine ; 

But  still  I  lift  the  agonizing  cry, 

To  build  but  one  great  Sonnet,  one  divine, 

One  soaring,  faultless  thing  that  cannot  die. 


C 


THE  SONNET  TRAIL 

U  PWARD  he  climbs  to  reach  the  soaring  height 

In  whose  ethereal,  heart-enrapturing  air 

The  masters  wrought  great  sonnet  gems,  and  there 

To  build  a  deathless  one  of  life  and  light ; 

But  while  of  it  Hope  dimly  catches  sight, 

His  eyes  see  only  fruitlessness,  and  stare 

At  that  far  distant  region  in  despair, 

And  down  he  falls  in  deep  Parnassian  night. 

Dear  Sonnet-Muse,  do  not  unpitying  feel 
That  all  his  soul  is  not  as  firmly  leal 
As  when  the  blood  ran  youthful  in  his  veins ; 
Ah,  this  can  never  be,  but  let  him  lie 
Where  he  in  ecstasy  may  hear  thy  strains 
And  see  the  speechless  wonders  of  thy  sky. 


C    >9    I] 


THE  MUSE  FINDING  THE  HEAD  OF 
ORPHEUS :  A  STATUE  BY 
EDWARD  BERGE 

O  ORPHEUS  dear,  Apollo's  radiant  one, 
Is  all  I  find  of  thee  this  beauteous  head  ? 
Were  Jove's  dread  thunderbolts  asleep  or  dead 
When  this  mad  murder  was  in  baseness  done  *? 
Alas !  his  lyre  its  loved  career  has  run : 
No  more  the  lion  to  its  tones  will  tread, 
No  more  by  it  the  forest's  brood  be  led, 
Nor  quivering  rocks  leap  rapturous  to  the  sun. 

Yet  Music  still  will  hold  thee  as  her  own 
Whose  ghostly  strains  immortal  will  be  blown 
From  mountain  peak  to  mountain  peak  of  song ; 
While  poets  clasp  thee  to  their  starry  breast, 
And  on  their  wings  ethereal  borne  along 
Mount  with  new  glory  on  their  ceaseless  quest. 


C  30 


WATTS-DUNTON  AND  THE  SONNET 


rich  in  literary  lore, 
And  of  Apollo's  royal  brotherhood, 
Says  that  the  octave  of  the  Sonnet  should 
Run  like  the  eager  wave  that  seeks  the  shore  ; 
And  that,  the  fury  of  the  billow  o'er, 
Its  slow  subsidence  to  the  ocean  would 
Point  then  the  sestette  to  its  needed  good  — 
The  two  uniting  in  a  perfect  score. 

Yet,  sonnet-winged,  what  deathless  verses  fly 
Through  Poesy's  illimitable  sky, 
With  movement  various-winged  as  Music  wills  ; 
And  here  Minerva's  golden  voice  would  say, 
If  Form,  and  nought  else,  all  your  vision  fills, 
Your  soulless  work  will  perish  in  a  day. 


C  31 


POETRY 

WHO  dares  to  say  that  Poetry  is  not, 
Or  having  been  has  now  lain  down  to  die, 
Know  nought  of  that  deep,  wonder-working  eye 
Which  domes  and  palaces  the  meanest  spot ; 
That  sees  yon  gorgeous  cloud  a  royal  cot 
Whereon  the  wearied  Day  is  fain  to  lie ; 
Or  can  the  fairies  at  their  sport  espy 
Within  the  rose  by  radiant  arrows  shot. 

Nor  do  they  hear  the  soul's  tremendous  lyre 

When  Poetry,  aflame  with  wild  desire, 

Strikes  from  its  lavish  strings  immortal  strains — 

Strains  ever  born  within  the  spirit's  cell, 

To  lift  all  baseness  from  its  paltry  gains, 

And  set  it  for  a  time  where  angels  dwell. 


C  3* 


WITH  NATURE 


THE  LEAST  AS  THE  GREATEST 

W  HEN  on  a  rosy-bosomed  cloud  I  sail 

In  luring  Fancy's  music-haunted  air, 

In  hope  some  beauty-breathing  creature  there 

Will  bless  mine  ear  with  an  unwonted  tale ; 

Or  when  Imagination  would  prevail 

Upon  my  prisoned,  torturing  thoughts  to  dare 

Some  peak-encircled,  eagle-loving  lair, 

Lament  unbosoms  her  despairing  wail. 

Then  on  the  wings  of  an  immortal  song 

I  find  me  borne  in  ecstasy  along 

To  where  rejoice  the  children  of  the  soul ; — 

For  still  the  Muse  has  myriad-stringed  her  harp, 

And  as  Life  craves  the  music  of  the  whole, 

Why  should  we  ever  at  the  smallest  carp  *? 


C  34 


SUNSHINE 

1HE  clouds  in  thickening  squadrons  thronged  the  sky 
Wherefrom  the  streaming  rain  insistent  fell, 
And  dark  the  village  lay  as  though  some  spell 
Had  breathed  upon  the  day's  all-gladdening  eye. 
The  wind  as  willing  aid  went  storming  by, 
Howling  triumphant  in  the  lonely  dell, 
While  roared  the  swollen  waters  that  could  tell 
A  tale  would  make  destruction's  self  to  sigh. 

But  lo,  the  storm  has  closed  its  wings,  for  plays 
Upon  the  church's  spire  the  fulgent  rays 
That  broadening  flush  with  splendor  all  the  scene, 
And  times  there  are,  so  steeped  in  fearsome  gloom, 
We  feel  our  days  would  nevermore  be  green, 
When  sudden  sunshine  nils  our  souls  with  bloom. 


35 


A  CALIFORNIA  GARDEN 

1  HE  chalked  tulips,  bravely  scarleted, 
And  brimming  with  the  sun's  gold-hearted  wine, 
To  us  are  nodding  with  memorial  sign 
From  out  the  splendors  of  their  pansied  bed. 
The  virgin  Spring  has  such  refulgence  shed 
Upon  their  cheeks  with  her  caress  divine, 
That  Beauty  there  might  evermore  recline, 
Nor  dream  that  any  of  her  kin  were  dead. 

Near  by  the  elm-trees  snow  their  vernal  bloom, 
The  droning  bees  among  the  blossoms  boom, 
And  distantly  a  joyful  songster  trills; 
While  in  our  hearts  contentment's  tranquil  airs, 
From  out  the  bosom  of  celestial  hills, 
Soothe  to  repose  all  peace-tormenting  cares. 


c  36  n 


TO  THE  TREE 

BENEATH  thy  verdurous  arch  I  love  to  lie, 

And  on  thy  life  serenely  ruminate, 

On  things  that  hang  upon  the  doom  of  fate, 

On  all  the  panoramas  passing  by. 

The  happy  birds  to  thee  in  numbers  fly, 

To  tell  their  love  with  joys  that  never  bate, 

The  patient  kine,  the  dreamer,  idler,  sate 

Their  ease  beneath  thy  branches  as  do  I. 

What  strength  and  beauty  in  thy  curving  limb, 
How  fair  thy  leaves  as  in  the  air  they  swim, 
Or  when  the  breeze  their  lovely  being  stirs. 
Earth's  giant  child !  she  loves  thee  as  her  best : 
In  life  thy  body  and  thy  soul  are  hers, 
In  death  thou  fall'st  to  fructify  her  breast. 


C   37 


THE  MOUNTAIN  PEAK 

1 HOU  mountain's  topmost  peak,  that  towers  too  high 

For  man  to  lay  his  friendly  cheek  on  thine, 

Companioned  by  the  silences  divine 

Thou  canst  behold  the  worlds  with  quiet  eye. 

No  tree  here  smiles  in  gladness  on  the  sky, 

Of  lovely  bloom  and  grass  there  is  no  sign, 

And  ice  and  snow  a  wreath  round  thee  entwine, 

That  man  and  all  his  skill  dare  not  defy. 

Thou'rt  like  some  spirit  purged  of  earthly  dross, 

Who  waiting  calmly  for  the  torturing  cross, 

In  isolated  grandeur  stands  alone ; 

Whose  eye  sees  through  our  life's  material  pall, 

And  ranging  round  the  spiritual  zone 

Views  God  in  gloried  splendor  over  all. 


C  38  3 


THE  VALLEY 

JriOW  sweet  this  vale  where  bending  willows  lean 
Above  the  glistening  stream  that  hastes  away, 
Mingling  its  music  through  the  livelong  day 
With  that  of  all  the  creatures  of  the  green. 
What  avenues  invite  where  we  may  glean 
Some  wondrous  thing  forgotten  by  the  fay, 
Or  bid  the  eye  some  noble  tree  survey, 
Or  hunt  for  blooms  the  loveliest  ever  seen. 

Beneath  this  giant  oak's  wide-spreading  arms 

Let  us  now  lie,  and,  free  from  all  alarms, 

Adventure  boldly  to  the  Land  of  Dream, 

Where  gorgeous  castles  float  in  roseate  air, 

Where  maidens  find  their  prince,  where  dazzling  teem 

All  things  beyond  the  power  of  despair. 


C    39 


TWIN  PEAKS,  SAN  FRANCISCO 

1  SEE  you  rise  beyond  the  surging  street, 
O  Peaks  beloved,  so  divinely  fair, 
That  Nature's  boldest  courage  would  despair 
To  mould  and  garnish  others  more  complete, 
Whether  the  gray-hued  mists  of  ocean  bear 
Their  streamers  o'er  you,  or  the  sun's  kiss  greet 
Your  lovely  bloom  and  blade,  or  moonbeams  meet 
To  weave  new  beauties  in  your  freshening  air. 

Full  oft  mine  eyes  behold  you  as  the  breasts 
Of  some  huge  Goddess  whose  benign  behests 
Upon  the  City  of  her  love  are  laid ; 
And  from  her  sounding  lips  then  fancy  hears 
Prophetic  words  my  dreaming  sees  arrayed 
In  deeds  that  shake  immortally  the  years. 


C    40    3 


THE  FLOWER 

1HIS  tiny  seed  that  bears  no  future's  sign, 
Which  has  no  word  of  loveliness  to  say, 
Within  the  waiting  earth  I  gently  lay, 
And  lo !  a  dazzling  miracle  is  mine : 
A  beauteous  creature,  carved  by  hand  divine, 
Springs  like  a  spirit  to  the  light  of  day, 
So  wonderful  in  all  its  great  array 
We  dare  not  deem  it  less  than  God's  design. 

All  color's  essence  of  the  lands  and  skies 

Upon  its  fragrant,  fragile  petal  lies, 

That  wantons  in  the  breeze  with  newer  grace. 

Look  in  its  inmost  heart  and  thrill  to  see 

All  beauties  of  the  universal  space, 

All  mystery  that  has  been  or  that  shall  be. 


C  41  3 


WONDER 

I  HE  redbird's  whistle  and  the  catbird's  mew, 
How  oft  I've  heard  them  when  my  years  were  young- 
Heard  them  until  their  beads  of  song  were  strung 
On  threads  whose  music  all  their  knowledge  knew. 
We  could  but  pause  that  melody  might  strew 
The  woodland  with  its  heart's  ecstatic  tongue, 
And  then  on  spirit  wings  they  gladly  sprung 
To  where  Creation  throned  herself  anew. 

O  wondrous  one,  we  marvel  as  of  yore 

That  you  should  live  alone  with  mystery's  lore, 

For  none  can  pierce  the  miracle  of  things. 

The  great-souled  eagle  of  imperial  eye, 

Can  he  outbeat  the  mallard's  awesome  wings, 

Or  regal  condor  of  Andean  sky  ? 


C    4* 


CLEARING  UP  AFTER  A  SHOWER 

IJURING  these  golden  moments  has  the  rain 
Withdrawn  its  drops  at  mandate  of  the  sun, 
Whose  silver  lances  at  the  cloud's  edge  run 
And  glint  along  the  woodland's  lovely  train. 
All  nature  thrills  as  with  new-hearted  strain, 
The  crystal  stream  a  deeper  note  has  won, 
While  every  leaf  rejoices  till  there's  none 
Whose  voice  from  benediction  can  refrain. 

Thou  ceaseless  miracle  of  earth  and  sky, 
What  doubts  consume  us  when  we  fain  would  try 
To  voyage  round  the  smallest  of  thine  isles ; 
And  when  we  helpless  drift  off  Beauty's  shore 
Amid  the  ripples  of  her  radiant  smiles, 
We  can  but  touch  her  garment  and  adore. 


C   43 


A  SUMMER  AFTERNOON 

JN  O  better  day  than  this  could  fortune  own, 
This  afternoon  of  undivided  rest, 
Where  nothing  heavier  sits  upon  the  breast 
Than  thistle-down  by  fairy  fingers  thrown. 
Above,  the  barn  bears  silence  deeply  lone ; 
Below,  the  wain  with  gathered  hay  oppressed 
Wheels  to  its  home ;  the  pigeons  seek  their  nest, 
While  every  air  is  quiet  as  a  stone. 

How  full  of  tranquil  bliss  this  rural  scene, 
Where  discord  cannot  breathe,  and  where  we  glean 
Some  foretaste  of  the  joys  of  hallowed  peace; 
Here  Beauty  spreads  her  uncorrupted  wings, 
And  here  a  blessedness  that  cannot  cease 
Through  all  the  heart  with  inspiration  sings. 


C    44    3 


CREATION 

YEA,  Life  is  ours  with  all  its  gains, 
With  all  its  losses  too, 
And  skies  are  swept  by  storms  and  rains, 
Then  blossom  into  blue ; 
Nor  can  Death  stranger  be  than  Life, 
If  we  but  clearly  see. 
That  though  they  seem  to  be  at  strife, 
They  in  the  end  agree ; 
For  in  Creation's  breast  they  meet, 
To  make  eternal  things  complete. 


C   45 


THE  CALIFORNIA  POPPY 

WHEN  winter's  rains  have  drenched  the  arid  earth, 

And  thrown  a  mantle  green  upon  the  dearth, 

And  welcome  sunshine  greets  the  coming  year, 

While  Beauty  spreads  her  glories  far  and  near, 

Then  the  great  Sun,  with  pride  of  power  blown, 

Not  yet  content  with  wonders  of  his  hand, 

A  glorious  image  of  himself  he  planned — 

The  Golden  Poppy — California's  own. 

Its  wondrous  cup  he  filled  with  his  bright  beams 

And  warmed  them  with  the  love  of  poet's  dreams ; 

And  so  it  sleeps  until  its  satin  cheeks 

Its  parent's  kiss  in  ecstasy  bespeaks. 

Thou  glorious  one,  of  nature  thou  dost  share 

A  feathery  bed  of  foliage,  whence  thy  fair 

And  stately  stalk  arises  in  the  air, 

Bearing  thy  cup,  a  marvel  to  behold, 

From  out  whose  depths  a  stream  of  priceless  gold 

Pours  through  all  nature's  veins  with  wealth  untold. 


C  46 


WITH  SOME  OF  THE  GREAT 


TO  JULIUS  CAESAR 

iHOU  mighty-souled,  thou  myriad-minded  one, 
The  greatest  of  the  few  supremely  great, 
To  thee  in  star-crowned,  solitary  state 
The  streams  of  thought  still  swelling  ever  run. 
Thy  slayers  knew  not  what  their  hands  had  done, 
For  through  thy  bosom's  murder-rended  gate 
Poured  the  rich  blood  prepotent  to  create 
An  age-long  rule  beneath  the  Empire's  sun. 

Though  War's  fell  demons  drenched  thee  with  their  wine, 
Law's  wound-effacing  ministers  were  thine, 
And  Peace  around  thee  sowed  her  quickening  seed ; 
Dissension  shrank  beneath  thy  mastering  hand, 
While  Rome,  long  tortured,  ceasing  then  to  bleed, 
Uprose  to  heights  immeasurably  grand. 


C     483 


BYRON 

BYRON  still  grandly  lives;  his  crater's  fire 
Was  born  to  gush  with  heart-consuming  pain ; 
The  world  still  owns  the  splendor  of  his  reign, 
And  wreathes  with  immortelle  that  throbbing  lyre, 
Where  passion  cries  with  unappeased  desire, 
Where  loftiest  thought  evokes  its  loftiest  strain 
Amid  the  mockeries  of  fierce  disdain 
And  scorn  of  cant  red  hot  with  scourging  ire. 

As  restless  and  as  ample  as  the  sea, 
And  as  its  winds  unconquerably  free, 
He  was  defiantly  the  challenger  of  things. 
Revolt  surged  rampant  in  his  every  vein, 
And  at  the  last,  borne  on  by  mighty  wings, 
He  spilled  his  life-blood  on  his  brother's  chain. 


C    49 


TO  EDWIN  MARKHAM 

O  MASTER  of  imperial  song,  we  greet 
You  here  triumphant  as  we  have  before, 
And  lay,  enriched  by  your  abounding  store, 
Our  love  in  heaping  garlands  at  your  feet. 
We  hail  you  now  as  one  who  takes  his  seat 
Among  the  immortals  of  poetic  lore, 
Who  can  in  high,  enchanted  regions  soar, 
Yet  hold  his  friendly  comradeship  complete. 

We  praise  you  not  for  one  undying  song 
That  rolled  its  thunderous  protest  far  along 
Until  a  newer  hope  bestarred  the  sky ; 
But  more  because  from  your  consummate  art 
Others  have  sprung  that  in  our  memories  lie 
As  jewels  garnered  from  your  deepest  heart. 


C  50 


EDWARD  ROWLAND  SILL 

IHE  heart  of  Nature  throbbed  against  his  own: 

Deep-nested  in  the  grass  he  loved  to  lie 

And  watch  the  wonders  of  the  earth  and  sky, 

Till  in  his  being's  self  their  souls  were  grown ; 

He  floated  with  the  cloud  above  him  blown, 

The  winds  were  his,  the  streamlet  murmuring  by, 

The  tree  his  brother  was,  while  soaring  high 

On  Hope's  vast  wings  he  ranged  Faith's  farthest  zone. 

Beauty  was  his  beyond  man's  niggard  worth; 
Her  fairies  blest  him  from  his  very  birth, 
And  at  his  wand  the  Venus  breathed  anew. 
Though  early  doomed,  he  made  no  wail  nor  whine, 
But  on  he  strode  a  spirit  brave  and  true, 
Still  living  greatly  on  the  things  divine. 


C  51 


ON  CALIFORNIA'S  LEGISLATIVE 

DECLARATION  MAKING  INA  COOLBRITH 

POET  LAUREATE 

1HE  State  of  California,  in  its  hand 
The  Golden  Poppy,  is  before  her  now, 
And  on  her  stainless  and  resplendent  brow 
Inscribes  its  Muse's  titular  command. 
And  all  the  children  of  our  golden  land 
In  jubilation  with  approval  bow, 
As  her  with  chorused  praises  they  allow 
Immortal  union  with  Apollo's  band. 

So,  Ina  Coolbrith,  thus  you  ever  are 

Our  all  unfading,  brightly  glowing  star, 

That  adds  new  glory  to  poetic  skies ; 

A  pioneer  with  California's  own, 

Who  labored  hard  and  with  supernal  cries 

Upraised  and  placed  her  on  empurpled  throne. 


3 


JOHN  MUIR 

iTE  knew  all  things  he  trod  beneath  his  feet, 

His  sympathizing  brother  was  the  tree, 

And  any  blade  his  piercing  eye  could  see 

Was  his  with  passionate  wonderment  to  greet. 

Nature  was  his  with  open  breast  to  meet, 

And  at  her  sacred  shrine  to  bend  the  knee, 

There  to  uplift  his  praise  in  such  degree 

It  seemed  that  Prayer  had  made  his  soul  her  seat. 

The  glacier  warmed  to  him  and  told  its  tale, 
To  him  the  mountain  held  a  newer  grail, 
While  streams  made  music  never  heard  before. 
To  his  deep  sense  the  Lord  in  glory  shone, 
And  gave  his  being  such  celestial  store 
Priestly  he  seemed,  supernal  and  alone. 


C    53 


ON  READING 

THE  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  THOMPSON 
BY  EVERARD  MEYNELL 

VvHAT  gold  and  dust  were  mingled  in  the  veins 
Of  this  great  singer ;  through  what  awful  mire 
He  dragged  his  Orphic,  consecrated  lyre ; 
What  freedom's  glory  his ;  what  hell's  own  chains. 
And  yet  his  Muse  with  heavenly  lustre  reigns : 
All  fathomless  the  depths  of  his  desire, 
And  bosomed  with  the  holiest  vestal  fire 
Pours  the  deep  stream  of  his  immortal  strains. 

A  child  he  seems  to  whom  is  given  to  bear 
Jewels  that  blaze  magnificently  rare 
O'er  distant  peaks  that  mock  men's  straining  gaze ; 
We  watch  him  as  he  flies  from  height  to  height, 
Dreading  and  doubting,  till  with  vast  amaze 
We  see  him  star-crowned  in  a  blaze  of  light. 


54 


ON  READING 

GEORGE  STERLING'S  BOOK  OF  SONNETS 

PUBLISHED  BY  THE  BOOK  CLUB 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

1  HE  unfamiliar  grips  us  as  we  stray 

Through  Sterling's  Sonnet  world :  flame-hearted  things 

Conquer  the  boundlessness  of  space  on  wings 

That  dreams  have  fashioned  in  their  wildest  play. 

From  far  horizons  unexplored  are  they, 

All  richly  robed  in  deep  imaginings, 

And  tuned  to  music  that  triumphant  sings 

As  they  sweep  on  their  cyclopean  way. 

What  dim-discovered  lands  through  mists  arise, 
What  marvellous  forms,  what  magic-woven  skies, 
What  kings  and  demons  breathe  in  haunted  air, 
What  thoughts  lie  captive  in  his  master  line, 
While  Beauty  revels  in  her  glory  there 
Fresh  as  from  virgin  mould  and  as  divine. 


C   55   3 


TO  LLOYD  MIFFLIN 

JVllFFLIN,  by  all  the  Muses  sonnet-crowned, 

Could  I  but  raise  my  struggling  verse  to  where 

Thou  roamest  free,  the  starry  heights  to  dare, 

It  would  world-listening  praises  of  thee  sound ; 

For  Art  in  thee  a  devotee  has  found 

Who  has  through  all  his  years  but  sought  to  bear 

Her  blazoned  banner  in  the  radiant  air, 

While  dewing  with  his  blood  her  sacred  ground. 

What  noble  struggle  thine  from  day  to  day, 

To  give  great  being  to  the  lifeless  clay, 

And  bid  thy  canvas  glory-colored  thrill ; 

While  Poesy  has  held  thee  so  at  call, 

Thy  vibrant  numbers  Thought's  vast  chambers  fill, 

And  on  the  ear  in  golden  music  fall. 


C  56  3 


AT  POLLOCK'S  GRAVE 

JN  O  bosom-nourished  blossoms  ever  blow, 
The  wild  grass  withers  on  the  desolate  ground, 
No  meanest  marking  headstone  can  be  found, 
Where  he  who  soared  so  high  now  lies  so  low. 
For  him  "the  air  is  chill" ;  no  longer  flow 
His  tears  for  lost  Olivia ;  no  more  is  bound 
The  Falcon  to  the  rocks  all  doom-encrowned ; 
His  Chandos  Picture's  spectres,  who  can  know  *? 

Apollo's  child,  thy  fate  is  but  the  one 

Of  him  who  makes  a  brother  of  the  sun, 

And  in  the  "Realms  of  Gold"  bears  dazzling  light ; 

Thou  art  a  member  of  that  radiant  host 

That  holds  its  torch  before  men's  blinded  sight, 

And  dies  all  unregarded  at  his  post. 


57 


BENJAMIN  IDE  WHEELER 

U  PON  the  heights  a  victor  Wheeler  stands, 
Spread  out  before  him  Learning's  rolling  spheres, 
And  where,  companioned  by  the  fruitful  years, 
He  rose  responsive  to  all  great  demands. 
He  never  built  upon  the  shifting  sands, 
Nor  paused  at  pessimism's  idle  tears, 
But  armed  with  truth  he  had  no  coward  fears, 
And  reared  his  temples  with  a  master's  hands. 

Oh,  golden  day  of  days  whereon  was  found 
Our  Education's  Chief,  whom  we  have  crowned 
As  one  who  mounted  to  the  topmost  goal. 
The  University  is  blazoned  high, 
And  on  its  loftiest  panel  man  will  scroll 
Forevermore  his  name  that  cannot  die. 


C  58 


TO  HENRY  MORSE  STEPHENS 

OELOVED  mentor  of  historic  lore, 

From  loftiest  peak  my  muse  would  fain  resound 

Thy  volumed  praises  as  she  sees  thee  crowned 

With  laurel  that  shall  live  forevermore; 

And  with  the  leaves  of  those  loved  trees  that  soar 

Where  Beauty  and  the  Owl  drink  peace  profound, 

And  which  still  hymn  thy  Patrick  all  renowned 

Among  the  treasures  of  Bohemia's  store. 

But  while  around  our  souls  those  joys  entwine, 
For  love  of  thee  our  hearts  have  raised  a  shrine 
Where  flames  in  crystal  air  a  vestal  light; 
And  as  thou  hast  escaped  the  grasp  of  death, 
We  fondly  hold  thee  to  our  greedy  sight, 
And  shout  our  welcome  with  our  dearest  breath. 


C    59 


HENRY  MORSE  STEPHENS 

1 N  soul  and  body  great,  a  marvellous  one, 
Who  delved  unceasingly  in  history's  lore, 
With  mind  that  could  in  freedom  grandly  soar 
Where  blazed  in  triumph  Learning's  mighty  sun. 
And  humor's  rivers  with  delight  did  run 
From  sparkling  fountains  of  his  being's  core ; 
While  bounteous  he,  and  yet  his  liberal  store 
Lagged  far  behind  what  he  could  wish  were  done. 

Death  came  to  him  so  suddenly  it  thrilled 
Our  hearts  with  wonder  to  behold  thus  stilled 
The  undiminished  splendor  of  his  years ; 
But  as  we  march  along  scholastic  ways 
We  see  his  star  through  memory's  mist  of  tears 
Outglow  in  glory  all  our  loftiest  praise. 


C    60    3 


FORREST 

IT.  OW  few  the  actors  who  have  climbed  the  skies 

Until,  by  universal  vision  seen, 

Upon  their  brow  we  hail  immortal  green, 

And  as  to  Forrest  give  the  glittering  prize. 

With  what  majestic  mien  does  he  arise, 

To  whose  grand  voice  all  accents  could  convene, 

From  rolling  thunder  to  the  mild  serene, 

While  passion  played  upon  our  vanquished  eyes. 

We  ride  upon  the  vision  of  his  Lear 
As  though  upon  some  stream  of  sorrow's  fear 
That  rouses  portents  never  known  before. 
So  in  our  memory  deeper  still  he  makes 
Macbeth's  deep  hell,  and  higher  yet  we  soar 
With  gentle  Hamlet  mid  the  tangled  brakes. 


6l 


WILLIAM  HENRY  BEATTY 

CHIEF  JUSTICE  OF  THE  SUPREME  COURT  OF  CALIFORNIA 
FOR  TWENTY-SIX  YEARS 

ITT.  E  was  a  royal  man  from  top  to  toe, 

With  head  bespeaking  thought,  bright,  beaming  eye, 

A  mien  majestical,  and  spirit  high 

That  bore  him  loftily  above  the  low. 

Still  life  to  him  meant  work,  not  empty  show ; 

On  the  old  ways  he  firmly  dared  rely, 

Yet  could  injustice  to  its  teeth  defy, 

And  sought  forevermore  the  right  to  know. 

The  Law  to  him  was  as  a  sacred  shrine, 
A  bannered  splendor  and  a  certain  sign 
For  man  beyond  all  question  to  obey. 
As  true  he  was  as  vestal  to  her  vow, 
And  as  the  requiem  floats  above  his  clay 
Undying  honor  sits  upon  his  brow. 


C 


JEREMIAH  LYNCH 

LYNCH  breathed  a  throbbing  life  at  every  pore, 

And  drained  its  essence  to  the  very  deep, 

Until  he  seemed  its  freshnesses  to  keep 

As  some  perpetual  spring  of  boundless  store. 

In  Egypt  and  her  vast,  mysterious  lore 

He  delved  with  all  her  wonderments  to  reap ; 

And  through  the  Klondyke  and  her  icy  sleep 

He  plowed  a  way  that  men  still  marvel  o'er. 

So  when  corruption  raised  its  sceptred  sway 
Against  his  city  as  its  certain  prey, 
He  smote  it  with  his  spiritual  might; 
And  with  all  courage  girt,  hard  bearing  down, 
Like  some  crusader  with  his  arms  of  light, 
He  won  the  victor's  honor-gloried  crown. 


C  63 


JESSE  WARREN  LILIENTHAL 

v!>OME  men  there  are  who  seem  to  walk  the  ground 
With  understanding  of  tremendous  might, 
That  can  the  crooked  straighten  into  right, 
And  all  disturbers  to  their  teeth  confound, 
And  yet  with  hearts  that  in  their  depths  abound 
With  love  for  all  the  things  that  meet  the  sight, 
And  who  with  souls  that  on  the  topmost  height 
Find  beauty,  grace,  and  every  heavenly  sound. 

Such  wast  thou,  Jesse  Lilienthal,  whose  brow 

With  thy  exalted  worth  is  blazing  now, 

Until  it  bids  us  to  commercial  pause. 

A  member  of  Isaiah's  remnant  thou, 

Who  drew  great  breaths  of  his  inspired  cause, 

And  ever  kept  his  fellow-serving  vow. 


C 


MARY  WEAVER  KINCAID 

JLjKE  some  imperial  oak  she  grandly  stood, 
That  weds  itself  in  power  to  the  ground, 
And  gazing  in  serenity  around 
Looms  the  great  splendor  of  the  neighborhood; 
Unconscious  of  the  all  pervasive  good 
Its  mighty  arms  in  peaceful  joy  surround, 
It  lives  its  life  with  benefactions  crowned, 
And  by  the  loveliest  dryads  retinued. 

The  breeze  may  gently  toss  its  leaflets  fair, 
The  stormy  winds  may  wrench  them  to  despair, 
Yet  the  tree  stands  and  makes  with  life  its  peace ; 
So  her,  the  fiercest  storms  could  not  dismay, 
Nor  could  seductive  calms  her  hold  release, 
But  on  she  pressed  to  her  successful  day. 


C  65 


TO  ROBERT  W.  SERVICE 

1  HOU  art,  O  Service,  such  a  human  soul 
As  man  has  seldom  seen  in  storm  or  wild, 
A  block  of  nature  pure  and  undefiled, 
Where  mountains  soar  and  matchless  rivers  roll. 
Thou  seest  man  where  lack  of  law's  control 
Gives  him  to  life  a  mad  unreconciled, 
In  every  thought  bedeviled  and  beguiled, 
And  gathering  nothing  save  the  devil's  dole. 

The  endless  reach  of  silence-hearted  snows 
Wherethrough  the  magisterial  Yukon  flows, 
Where  blizzards  bite  their  victims  to  the  bone ; 
And  where  the  woman  with  her  luring  wile 
Outbreathes  such  fumes  as  hell  would  joy  to  own, 
Till  man  is  lost  in  oceans  of  the  vile. 


C    66 


WILSON 

WHAT  soul  can  top  our  Wilson  of  the  ones 

That  held  for  us  the  power-compelling  reins, 

And  seemed  impressed  with  heavenly-minted  seals  ? 

We  hate  comparisons,  but  where  shall  we, 

Except  among  our  best,  his  equal  find*? 

For  does  he  not  in  bluest  ether  stand, 

A  blazoned  spirit  bravely  holding  high 

The  standard  of  humanity  and  right? 

Is  not  the  pearl  of  speech  his  gift  divine 

Whereon  his  language  feeds  that  trances  men  *? 

To  see  how  large  he  is,  behold  how  small 

The  Senators  who  snap  and  snarl  at  him, 

And  vainly  think  they  are  made  great  when  they, 

Inflated,  carp  at  him  with  bellowing  rage ; 

And  fail  to  heed  that  mere  resounding  words 

That  fill  the  thoughtful  listener  with  disgust 

Are  but  the  playthings  of  the  idle  winds. 

This  Treaty,  born  of  Wilson's  mighty  heart, 

Must  now  be  taken  at  its  precious  worth — 

A  thing  sublimest,  for  it  yields  the  hope 

Of  throttling  once  for  all  the  beast  of  war — 

A  beast  who  has  upon  this  pleasant  earth 

Wrought  havoc  and  destruction's  awful  waste, 

With  blood  of  man  that  swims  in  boundless  depths. 

The  words  of  all  the  languages  must  fail 

To  strike  its  horrors  in  completion's  vast. 

And  now  this  man — our  monumental  hope — 

C  67  3 


Lies  with  his  eyes  upon  this  Treaty  fixed, 

While  illness  grips  him  hard  upon  the  throat. 

Dear  God,  we  pray  Thee,  he  may  struggle  through, 

And  grant  at  this  inimitable  hour 

No  thing  may  fail  him  that  with  him  should  be. 

Let  Optimism's  brightest  banners  wave 

Till  all  her  army  of  supernal  light 

Sweep  in  proud  glory  round  his  honored  bed, 

And  from  that  bed  may  he  serenely  rise 

Clothed  in  the  radiance  of  abundant  health, 

And  with  the  Victory  of  the  Treaty  crowned. 


C    68    3 


LAFAYETTE 

\VHAT  day  is  this  whose  glorious  name 
Stands  calling  at  Columbia's  ear, 
What  star  is  this  whose  quenchless  flame 
Resplendent  shines  from  year  to  year? 
The  natal  day,  the  full-blown  star, 
Of  him  we  knew  in  peace  and  war, 
Of  him  we  never  can  forget  — 
The  blameless  hero,  Lafayette. 

As  long  as  History's  iron  pen 
Shall  to  her  task  in  honor  turn, 
Or  patriot  fires  in  hearts  of  men 
All  purely,  unconsuming  burn, 
We  should  rejoicing's  sacred  praise 
Above  commercial  tumult  raise, 
And  vow  we  never  shall  forget 
The  freedom-passioned  Lafayette. 

Oh,  how  can  we  pass  by  this  day, 

And  not  live  o'er  the  precious  time, 

When  he  with  hope  cast  fear  away, 

And  he,  a  Hercules  sublime, 

Rose  high,  scarce  more  than  stripling  youth, 

On  wings  of  liberty  and  truth, 

And  was  what  we  shall  ne'er  forget  — 

The  courage-dowered  Lafayette. 


c 


With  what  serenity  he  strode 
Along  the  ways  of  Washington, 
And  bore  unflinchingly  his  load 
Beneath  the  brilliance  of  that  sun, 
Till,  laurel-wreathed,  all  stately  he 
Stood  in  Fame's  Temple,  while  the  free 
Resolved  they  never  would  forget 
The  glory-blazoned  Lafayette. 

And  there  today  he  stands  the  pride 
America  would  not  forego, 
While  all  her  children  by  his  side 
Their  praiseful  trumpets  joy  to  blow. 
Our  souls  are  fed  when  thus  we  sound 
The  name  of  him  the  world  around, 
And  thrill  that  we  can  ne'er  forget 
Our  heart's  immortal,  Lafayette. 


C  70 


IN  VARIOUS  KEYS 


BOHEMIA 

do  we  love  our  dear  Bohemia  so  ? 
Because  the  soul  of  fellowship  is  there ; 
Because  before  her  doors  we  drop  all  care, 
And  bid  the  fires  of  sentiment  to  glow. 
Life  there  on  widest  wings  of  joy  would  go, 
And  every  vein  of  wit  and  humor  dare, 
While  to  her  blossomy  heights  she  thrills  to  bear 
The  priceless  jewels  men  are  proud  to  know. 

Within  her  sacred  ground  Tradition  hives 
In  honeyed  store  a  line  of  laureled  lives, 
That  makes  a  fadeless  splendor  of  her  day ; 
And  hallowed  Memory  visits  oft  her  halls, 
To  linger  long  and  tenderly  essay 
The  themes  that  once  had  glorified  her  walls. 


c  7*  n 


A  CHANT  OF  VICTORY 

JULY  14,  1919 

1 N  this  triumphant  day  of  days 

We  lift  her  to  the  skies, 

That  there  consummately  may  blaze 

The  ardor  of  her  eyes, 

That  there,  O  France,  thy  lily's  bloom 

On  every  Frenchman's  breast 

May  with  resplendence  newly  loom 

And  be  with  glory  blest. 

How  rent  and  torn  these  four  long  years 

The  homes  your  precious  own, 

What  dreadful  glooms,  what  sickening  fears 

You  knew  as  yours  alone : 

But  now  the  deep-souled  Chanteclair 

Sounds  loud  his  glorious  throat, 

And  Victory  from  the  thrilling  air 

Responds  with  golden  note. 

Do  ye  not  hear  it,  Frenchmen  all, 

Until  your  heartstrings  quiver, 

And  at  the  feet  of  France  you  fall 

Forever  and  forever  *? 

Know  now  that  all  your  glooms  are  gone, 

Know  that  the  sun  is  here, 

And  that  on  Victory's  mighty  throne 

Sits  France  without  a  fear. 

C   73    I] 


ON  THE  WINGS  OF  WAR 

AUGUST, 

WE  ride  upon  the  wings  of  war, 

And  would  no  other  ride ; 

We  hail  its  blood-encrimsoned  star 

Our  one  and  only  guide. 

Let  Treasons  come 

And  Peace's  sum, 

War's  ruin  waits  them  deep  and  wide. 

On  these  in  scorn  of  doubt's  despite, 

Or  tempting  compromise, 

Or  propaganda  swift  to  smite, 

Unhindered  still  we  rise, 

In  hope  that  we 

Shall  greatly  see 

The  starry  wonder  of  the  skies — 

The  wonder  that  both  day  and  night, 

On  heaven's  empurpled  scroll, 

We  read  in  flaming  splendor,  Fight 

Until  you  reach  the  goal, 

Fight  till  the  blood 

Runs  down  in  flood, 

Fight  to  the  grandeur  of  your  soul. 


C    74 


God  of  our  Fathers,  keep  us  true, 

Upon  this  fateful  ride ; 

Let  us  in  Freedom's  boundless  blue 

Breathe  nought  but  Freedom's  pride, 

Until  at  last, 

All  dangers  passed, 

With  honor's  peace  we  can  abide. 


THE  FLAG 

Blest  emblem  of  the  mighty  free, 
Undaunted,  stainless  shalt  thou  be 
As  long  as  Liberty  shall  own 
Our  homage  and  our  souls  alone. 

Oh,  be  it  thus  forevermore, 
Make  it  our  still  increasing  store, 
Till  in  the  utmost  night  of  time 
Men  treasure  nothing  more  sublime. 


C    75 


THE  YOUNG  AVIATOR 

INSATIATE  youth  would  make  his  dazzling  prize 
The  eagle's  element,  and  proudly  learn 
From  farthest  reaches  of  the  air  to  earn 
Enough  to  make  man  dangerously  wise. 
Then  Science,  with  Hephaestus  to  advise, 
The  monster  built,  whereby  with  mad  concern 
The  eager  youth  the  solid  earth  dared  spurn 
And  all  the  winged  creatures  of  the  skies. 

As  distance  flees  before  him,  and  he  seems 
Within  the  consummation  of  his  dreams, 
The  winds  incensed  smite  him  with  ruin  dire ; 
But  he  has  felt  transfiguring,  mighty  things, 
And  from  the  ashes  of  his  vast  desire 
Shall  grandly  rise  unconquerable  wings. 


C  76 


ANGELS 

IS  heaven  the  home  of  angels,  did  you  say, 
And  there  alone  their  virtues  can  be  found, 
Where  spirits  in  ascending  rank  abound, 
And  on  the  soul  transfiguring  essence  lay? 
Indeed,  they  swarm  on  every  earthly  way, 
Bearing  their  harps  of  most  melodial  sound, 
And  with  unwithering  leaves  in  glory  crowned 
The  saving  graces  of  mankind  obey. 

The  gentle  bathe  with  sweetness  many  a  sore ; 
They  fearless  wade  through  war's  abhorrent  gore, 
And  soothe  the  bosom's  anguish  into  sleep ; 
The  gifted  ones  their  songs  and  dreams  unchain, 
Until  in  mighty  choruses  they  sweep 
From  end  to  end  of  nature's  wide  domain. 


C    77 


SAN  FRANCISCO  1912 

1 0  her  the  Past  is  now  a  dream 
Where  every  glory  holds  its  way, 
And  where  the  Present  dares  to  deem 
The  Future's  hand  on  her  shall  lay 
Such  treasure  of  achievement's  gold, 
That  in  his  arms  her  saint  shall  fold 
His  favored  daughter  on  his  breast, 
And  say  to  all  mankind,  Behold 
This  wonder  of  the  wondrous  West, 
This  one  my  Serra  raised  for  me, 
This  mighty  one  whose  radiant  crest 
In  matchless  splendor  pales  the  rest, 
This  one  that  by  Balboa's  sea 
Sits  robed  and  crowned  immortally. 


LOOKING  DOWN  ON  SAN  FRANCISCO 
AT  NIGHT 

1  HE  noisy  day  is  done,  and  now  I  see 
My  City  lying  in  the  arms  of  Night, 
So  lovely,  so  magnificently  dight, 
I  bend  once  more  to  her  my  loyal  knee. 
The  starred  emblazonment  above  me  she 
Twins  with  yon  seas  of  scintillating  light ; 
Yet  still  amid  this  miracle  of  sight 
The  Spirit's  voices  raise  their  poignant  plea  : 

O  thou  that  Serra  in  his  vision  saw, 

Hast  thou  obeyed  thy  soul's  flame-written  law, 

Or  hast  thou  sought  for  gems  in  Mammon's  mire 

Wilt  thou  not  glorify  thy  saintly  name, 

And  nobly  forge  in  Consecration's  fire 

Great  deeds  unsullied  by  the  touch  of  shame  ? 


C    79 


THE  COLUMNS  OF  THE  SUN  AT  BAALBEC 

IN  time  long  vanished  thousands  gathered  here, 
To  greet  rejoicingly  the  God  of  Day, 
That  on  his  mystical,  majestic  way 
Dispersed  the  terrors  of  their  nightly  fear. 
The  Sun  still  grandly  keeps  on  his  career, 
To  destinations  thought  cannot  betray, 
While  those  who  did  his  sovran  rule  obey 
Have  blent  with  desert  dust  this  many  a  year. 

Of  all  the  Temple's  columns  but  remain 
A  few  that  still  caress  the  orphaned  plain, 
Which  spreads  afar  its  melancholy  waste. 
Here  desolation  mocks  the  cities'  pride, 
For  they  shall  Life's  hot  fevers  madly  taste, 
And  soon  or  late  be  borne  on  Death's  great  tide. 


THE  ORGAN 

jr\MONG  the  organ  pipes  he  stood  to  bare 
The  secrets  of  their  heart  and  how  arrayed, 
While  on  its  structure  tenderly  he  laid 
His  practiced  hand  in  more  than  loving  care. 
Then  moved  by  far-off  voices  he  sat  where 
In  ecstasy  he  so  divinely  played, 
That  earth  and  all  its  evils  seemed  to  fade 
As  hallowed  rapture  filled  the  tremulous  air. 

O  striking  wonder  that  from  out  this  thing 
Of  massive  wood  and  iron  at  touch  should  spring 
The  sounds  that  stir  us  to  the  bosom's  core — 
The  sounds  that  lie  in  Nature's  varied  breast, 
From  angry  ocean's  fear-compelling  roar 
To  that  of  leaflet  by  the  breeze  caressed. 


C  8l 


CHURCH-BELLS 

ri OW  sweet  and  clear  the  Sunday  church-bells 

sound 

In  memory's  halls  as  in  the  olden  days, 
And  then  I  see  my  mother  robed  for  praise, 
With  her  dear  heart  to  adoration  bound. 
The  village  seemed  with  consecration  crowned, 
All  worldliness  forgot,  and  all  dismays, 
As  the  processions  went  their  several  ways, 
To  hear  the  reverend  man  the  Word  expound. 

Remembrance  comes  from  out  that  far,  far  time, 
Until  its  voices  in  mellifluous  chime 
Sound  as  the  prelude  to  eternal  airs ; 
And  as  the  heavens  unroll  I  seem  to  see 
Not  Science  bold  that  every  province  dares, 
But  humble  Faith  that  sets  the  spirit  free. 


A  STREET  IN  OLD  MONTEREY 

WHAT  brooding  solemness  all  things  here  wear : 

Silence  has  fallen  to  its  utmost  deep, 

And  Night's  first  stars  their  twinkling  vigil  keep 

O'er  these  old  houses  Time  still  loves  to  spare. 

Within  these  walls  what  senoritas  fair 

Were  fain  the  ecstasy  of  love  to  reap, 

As  the  fandango  with  its  whirling  sweep 

Sped  onward  to  the  flying  hours'  despair. 

Forever  gone  those  times  of  gay  romance, 

Of  mission  grandeur,  the  bewildering  dance, 

And  all  the  dramas  of  the  olden  day ; 

Nought  now  remains  but  memories  strongly  stirred 

By  pictures  such  as  this  that  come  to  stay 

In  one  immortal,  ever-glorious  word. 


C  83  3 


A  CAGED  EAGLE 

iHE  eagle  beats  against  his  bars  in  vain, 

As  he  beholds  the  vast  outspreading  sky 

Mocking  his  passionate,  bemoaning  cry 

For  bounding  joys  now  turned  to  hopeless  pain. 

No  more  like  thunder  can  he  fall  amain 

Upon  the  quarry  in  his  triumph  high, 

Nor  all  the  legions  of  the  air  defy 

In  search  of  food  his  children  to  maintain. 

What  thoughts  are  his  as  day  by  lengthening  day 

He  feels  his  pinions  rusting  fast  away, 

That  made  him  sharer  of  the  lightning's  glee ; 

And  as  from  summit  of  his  ice-crowned  rocks 

All  universal  space  was  his  to  see, 

How  could  he  dream  of  slavery's  chains  and  locks ! 


AN  OLD  MINER  AT  SHASTA  WITH  THE 
HAUNTS  OF  OLD 

IVlY  boyhood  voices  call  me  and  I  go 
Where  roamed  I  freely  when  my  feet  were  young, 
When  mountain,  wood,  and  stream  their  glories  sung 
To  every  moment  that  my  heart  could  know. 
Here  toiled  for  gold,  in  fiercest  joy  and  woe, 
Great  swarms  of  men  from  all  creation  sprung ; 
Now  they  are  gone,  from  life's  great  issues  flung 
Like  breakers  when  the  winds  in  fury  blow. 

In  those  rare  days  the  blood  ran  hot  and  high, 
Yet  now  in  peace  the  towering  mountains  lie, 
While  all  the  village  drones  the  hours  away. 
Here  precious  Memory  strikes  her  deepest  note, 
As  once  again  the  Past  floods  all  the  day, 
And  on  its  bosom  I  contented  float. 


C 


EGYPT 

JLHOU  world-entrancing  Egypt,  matchless  one, 
Before  whose  majesty  the  nations  kneel, 
To  drink  from  thy  exhaustless  cup  and  feel 
Through  every  vein  its  magic  ichor  run. 
Lone  as  Sesostris  in  thy  burning  sun, 
Thou  hast  on  Time  so  well  impressed  thy  seal, 
That  all  the  ages,  as  they  round  thee  wheel, 
Proclaim  forevermore  "Like  thee  there's  none !" 

Change  has  thy  bosom  trenched  in  ruthless  ways, 

Yet  still  thy  Sphinx  in  royal  calm  surveys 

The  desert  sands  illimitably  far ; 

And  thine  own  Nile,  by  every  year  caressed, 

Obeying  thy  propitious,  fulgent  star, 

Still  bears  the  food  of  millions  on  its  breast. 


TO  THE  MUMMY  OF  PRINCESS  ISIS 

PRESENTED  BY  JEREMIAH  LYNCH  TO  THE  BOHEMIAN 
CLUB,  SAN  FRANCISCO,  MAY  5,  1914 

J.HOU  art  not  dead,  thou  maid  of  mummied  guise, 

For  thou  arousest  all  the  centuries  gone, 

And  in  our  dreams,  by  memory's  potence  drawn, 

Egypt  before  us  in  her  splendor  lies. 

This  princess  has  beheld  with  pride-lit  eyes 

The  Gods'  procession,  gazed  enraptured  on 

Thebes'  mighty  fane,  heard  Memnon  greet  the  dawn, 

And  saw  the  Sphinx  in  wonder's  realm  arise. 

Unrivalled  land,  within  whose  brimming  bowl 
The  nations  of  the  earth  have  steeped  their  soul, 
Thy  child  we  welcome  to  her  alien  shore ; 
To  us  she  seems  an  ever-living  sprite 
From  out  the  mystic,  shadow-land  of  yore, 
To  shake  new  glories  from  her  wings  of  light. 


C 


THE  OLD  SWEETHEART 

(After  the  French  of  Ronsard) 

WHEN  at  the  candle-light,  an  aged  crone, 
You  wind  and  spin  anear  the  evening  blaze, 
You'll  murmur,  as  you  marvelling  sing  my  lays, 
Ronsard  famed  me  when  I  was  Beauty's  own. 
And  then  your  maid,  raised  to  such  novel  zone, 
Whom  labor's  somnolence  inveterate  sways, 
Will  rouse  herself  as  Ronsard's  song  of  praise 
Blesses  your  name  with  an  immortal  tone. 

A  boneless  phantom  then  in  earth  I'll  lie, 
Taking  my  last  repose  where  myrtles  sigh, 
While  at  the  hearth  you'll  crouch  with  head  of  gray- 
My  love  lamenting  and  your  proud  disdain. 
Live  now,  and  know  tomorrow's  care  is  vain : 
Oh,  gather  life's  rich  roses  while  you  may. 


Of  this  "famous  sonnet,"  an  English  'version  of  ivhich  is  here 

attempted^  John  Bailey,  in  his  ivork  on  "The  Claims 

of  French  Poetry,"  says:  "  There  arefeiv 

finer  sonnets  in  any  language" 


THE  OLD  DOCTOR 

JrilS  office  in  confusion  ever  lay — 

Books,  herbs,  and  vials  scattered  all  around, 

But  things  were  cornered  where  they  could  be  found, 

As  oft  he  chose  the  healing  drug  to  weigh. 

With  shoulders  bowed,  and  hair  of  snowy  gray, 

With  patient  feet  that  shuffled  o'er  the  ground, 

And  hands  wherein  all  tenderness  was  bound, 

He  glorified  his  duties  day  by  day. 

From  his  great  soul  Learning  had  not  been  banned, 
But  his  the  power  of  the  master  hand 
That  made  him  king  in  presence  of  distress ; 
And  what  can  take  the  place  of  his  keen  eye, 
His  consecrated  toil,  his  zeal  to  bless, 
The  confidence  in  him  when  he  was  nigh*? 


C    89 


CARCASSONNE 

(After  Gustave  Nadaud) 

iVlY  years  are  many — sixty  they; 
My  whole  life  long  I've  labored  hard, 
Yet  with  it  all  nought  would  allay 
My  great  desire  still  ever  barred. 
Ah,  here  below  right  well  I  see 
No  perfect  joy  has  any  one  : 
What  I  most  wish  is  not  for  me — 
I  have  not  yet  seen  Carcassonne ! 

Behind  yon  mountains  dimly  blue 

They  see  the  glorious  City  lie ; 

But  ah,  to  reach  it  one  must  do 

Five  long,  long  leagues,  then  homeward  hie, 

Till  all  the  toilsome  way  be  stepped. 

Were  but  a  bounteous  vintage  done, 

Or  had  the  grapes  unyellowed  kept ! — 

I  never  shall  see  Carcassonne ! 

They  say  that  during  all  the  days, 
The  same  as  on  a  Sunday,  there 
The  ones  who  pass  along  the  ways 
New  clothes,  and  fine,  white  dresses  wear. 
They  say  too  that  the  chateaux'  walls 
Are  grand  as  those  of  Babylon, 
A  Bishop  and  two  Generals  ! — 
And  still  I  know  not  Carcassonne ! 

C    90   3 


Much  sense  is  in  the  vicar's  head  : 

We're  so  imprudent,  that  I  ken. 

In  his  oration  well  he  said 

Ambition  'tis  that  ruins  men ; 

And  yet,  if  only  two  days  I 

Could  find  when  Autumn  tasks  were  done, 

My  God !  contented  would  I  die 

Once  having  gazed  on  Carcassonne ! 

Dear  God,  thy  pardon  I  bespeak 
If  my  prayer  gives  offense  to  Thee ; 
For  things  beyond  us  still  we  seek 
In  old  age  as  in  infancy. 
My  good  wife,  with  my  son  Aignan, 
Has  journeyed  far  as  to  Narbonne; 
My  godson  has  viewed  Perpignan, 
Yet  I  have  not  seen  Carcassonne  ! 

So,  once  there  sang  anear  Limoux 

A  peasant  by  his  years  bent  low, 

To  whom  I  said :  "Friend,  rise,  and  you 

With  me  shall  on  this  journey  go." 

We  left  the  next  succeeding  day ; 

But, — God  forgive  him ! — ere  he'd  gone 

Scarce  half  the  distance  dead  he  lay : 

He  never  looked  on  Carcassonne ! 


C  91 


THANKSGIVING,  1918 

.TAR  up  the  mountain  peaks  of  song 
Where  ecstasies  of  glory  blow, 
Where  all  the  heartsome  jewels  throng 
That  deep-souled  thankfulness  can  know, 
My  longing  Muse  with  hallowed  feet 
Would  step  the  ways  that  are  complete. 

Not  since  the  blessed  Jesus  came 
To  clothe  and  feed  the  starving  world 
Has  such  a  heaven-directed  flame 
Upon  the  breast  of  earth  been  hurled, 
Or  Justice,  crowned  with  stars  of  Right, 
So  lifted  man  to  hills  of  light. 

On  this  our  own  Thanksgiving  Day 
Our  swelling  hearts  would  now  implore 
The  mind  to  drop  its  sordid  clay, 
And  on  the  spirit's  pinions  soar 
To  realms  of  sempiternal  fire 
That  burn  around  the  soul's  desire. 

O  God,  we  bless  thee  for  this  time 
In  words  so  poor  it  makes  us  weep ; 
But  who  can  sing  the  word  sublime 
That  lies  beyond  all  soundings  deep, 
And  with  its  fellows  looms  so  high 
It  roams  with  them  the  farthest  sky. 

C  9*  3 


ON  NEW  YEAR'S  EVE 

1HE  Old  Year's  face  is  sadly  pinched  and  wan, 
His  voice  is  very  low,  his  heart  is  sere, 
And  well  we  know  that  ere  another  dawn 
He'll  be  no  longer  here. 

But  ere  he  goes  we'll  take  his  withered  hand 
And  thank  him  for  the  largess  he  bestowed, 
For  all  the  joys  that  went  at  his  command 
With  us  along  Life's  road ; 

For  that  companionship  of  perfect  bloom, 
The  latest  one  whereof  now  flowers  today, 
When  every  melancholic  imp  of  gloom 
With  cheers  is  chased  away. 

Another  year  is  on  our  heads,  yet  we 
Responsive  sit  around  this  bounteous  board, 
With  joy-delighted  hearts  and  eyes  to  see 
Life's  ever  precious  hoard. 

We  give  no  lamentations  to  the  Year 
Who  soon  from  us  will  be  forever  gone, 
For  though  Life  brews  for  us  full  many  a  tear, 
Still  Hope  leads  bravely  on. 


I    93 


Then  let  the  storm  sweep  furious  through  the  skies, 
Undaunted  we'll  await  the  conquering  Sun, 
While  from  our  hearts  the  old-time  prayer  shall  rise, 
God  bless  us  every  one ! 


LIFE'S  JEWELS 

Seek  not  life's  jewels  where  the  poppies  grow, 
Nor  where  Desire,  all  passion-poisoned,  rears 
Her  luring  domes,  but  in  the  heart  of  woe, 
With  shores  far  washed  by  sanctifying  tears. 


RICHES 

All  that  life's  ocean  infinitely  bears 
Of  joys  beyond  the  greatest  may  be  thine, 
For  everything  is  his  who  nobly  dares, 
And  he  that  truly  serves  is  then  divine. 


C    94 


DEMORTUIS 


DEATH 

WHAT  is  it  to  be  dead?  But  yesterday 
Her  sparkling  eyes  beamed  on  me  with  delight, 
Her  cheeks  with  color  of  the  rose  were  bright, 
And  on  her  lips  wild  laughter  ran  at  play ; 
But  now  in  silence  these  have  fled  away : 
Ice-cold  her  pallid  face  that  holds  no  sight, 
Her  limbs  are  motionless,  her  breast  locked  tight, 
Nor  could  she  e'en  to  me  one  poor  word  say. 

Life's  vernal  blooms  scarce  flowered  at  her  call, 

When  Death's  untimely  winter  killed  them  all, 

And  they  with  her  irreparably  lie. 

Thou  faded  loveliness,  can  it  be  said 

Thou  wast  but  born  to  take  a  breath  and  die  *? 

No,  no,  it  cannot  be  that  thou  art  dead. 


C  96 


THE  GRAVE 

WHAT  eye  has  seen  the  bottom  of  the  grave 
Since  first  the  plasma  shook  with  dawning  light 
Till  Evolution  with  its  age-long  might 
To  man  new  wonders  in  revealment  gave? 
Like  that  far  one  who  in  his  darksome  cave 
Ate  the  raw  flesh  he  won  in  bloody  fight, 
So  all  have  had  the  same  defeated  sight, 
Devil  or  saint,  the  skulker  or  the  brave. 

Yet  Life  her  bounty  pours  on  every  scene : 
This  great  tree,  once  a  miracle  of  green, 
Falls  to  the  waiting  earth  and  is  no  more ; 
But  other  lives  from  out  its  ashes  spring, 
And  gathering  to  themselves  new-hearted  store 
Pursue  their  courses  on  triumphant  wing. 


C    97 


WHY  FEAR? 

WHY  should  I  fear,  O  Death,  to  be  laid  low 

When  all  life  riots  in  my  laughing  veins ; 

Or  tremble  lest  the  armory  of  banes 

Be  now  preparing  for  my  final  blow  ? 

To  me  thou  seemest  never  as  a  foe, 

But  as  a  kindly,  loyal  friend  who  deigns 

To  lead  me  with  incalculable  pains 

Where  every  soul  has  gone  and  all  must  go. 

What  matters  if  we  fall  when  life  is  sweet, 
When  happiness  is  flowering  round  our  feet, 
Or  consummation  settles  on  the  head ; 
The  Eternal  Voice  proclaims  we  are  to  be, 
And  that  around  us  shall  forever  spread 
The  heartening  wonders  of  divinity. 


C 


CONSOLATION 

,  one  by  one  from  Life's  earth-spreading  tree 
They  fell  bedewed  with  all  good  men's  regret, 
And  though  my  heart  enshrines  their  memory,  yet, 
The  poignant  hurt  of  loss  still  lives  with  me. 
What  radiant  souls  were  theirs  for  eyes  to  see ; 
What  lions  in  their  way  they  bravely  met, 
Till  on  their  strife-worn  brows  were  blazoning  set 
The  everlasting  stars  of  Victory. 

O  noble  ones,  my  griefs  I  throw  aside, 
For  death  your  labors  has  but  sanctified 
And  passed  you  on  for  labors  greater  still ; 
For  what  is  Life,  or  Death,  in  every  mood, 
But  the  expression  of  the  mighty  will 
Which  holds  the  sceptre  of  concentred  Good. 


C    99 


LOVE 

all  the  members  of  the  angel  choir 
Love  fills  the  uttermost  exalted  seat, 
In  every  blessedness  so  all  complete 
She  bears  the  blazon  of  celestial  fire. 
She  fears  no  host  of  hell's  consuming  ire, 
E'en  when  in  awfulness  of  war  they  meet, 
But  gathering  agonies  around  her  feet, 
She  suages  them  with  balms  of  her  desire. 

All  things  are  hers  beneath  Life's  various  sky, 

And  did  she  flee  Service  would  pine  and  die, 

And  man  in  unrestraint  his  brother  tear. 

The  Universe  itself  is  of  her  store, 

For  were  her  blessings  left  outside  her  care, 

The  blackened  earth  would  know  its  God  no  more. 


I0° 


BEHOLD  THE  SEASONS 

BEHOLD  the  Seasons:  Spring  with  breast  of  bloom, 
Summer  whose  harvests  glorify  the  ground, 
Autumn  with  every  consummation  crowned, 
And  Winter  folding  all  within  his  tomb ; 
Where  then  at  sleep  within  its  fecund  womb, 
They  feed  on  rest  for  their  recurring  round, 
With  each  in  turn  its  special  guerdon  found, 
Year  after  year,  and  absolute  as  doom. 

Who  doubts  the  coming  of  the  blessed  rain, 
Or  deems  the  gendering  Sun  will  shine  in  vain, 
Or  cease  to  breed  the  clouds  upon  the  sea  *? 
Life  in  its  vastness  is  an  ordered  whole, 
Nor  can  the  least  of  all  its  creatures  be 
Without  the  inspiration  of  a  goal. 


BEHOLD  THE  SKIES 

JLHE  dazzling  splendor  of  the  skies  behold 
When  Day  is  fled  and  gently  brooding  Night 
Leads  out  her  train  in  golden  glory  dight, 
As  she  has  done  for  ages  yet  untold. 
Unpausing  and  unhasting  they  have  rolled, 
By  some  transcendently  colossal  might, 
Through  boundless  space  so  infinitely  right 
They  keep  their  vasty  orbits  as  of  old. 

Could  Chance  and  Chaos,  each  forever  blind, 

Void  of  all  form,  of  sense,  desire,  or  mind, 

Have  caused  these  spheral  harmonies  to  be  ? 

Ah,  no :  The  order  evermore  divine 

Strikes  every  chord  of  all  immensity, 

Till  even  the  smallest  voice  bears  music's  sign. 


C  I02 


PROOF  OF  GOD 

JLJOST  ask  for  proof  of  God*?  Thou  mayst  as  well 
Ask  of  the  daisy  on  its  lowly  throne 
Whence,  how,  or  why  its  loveliness  has  grown, 
Or  seek  the  secret  of  the  Poet's  spell. 
Unwavering  Faith  is  what  their  Voices  tell, 
For  when  their  hearts  lie  close  against  thine  own 
Until  their  pulse-beats  thrill  thee  to  the  bone, 
Doubt's  demons  perish  in  their  self-made  hell. 

In  vain  does  Reason  beat  its  haughty  wings 

Within  the  realm  of  inner-hearted  things, 

To  fold  at  last  in  Logic's  dull  despair. 

Yea,  Mystery  lies  at  Being's  very  core, 

And  nourished  by  divine,  eternal  care, 

Walks  veiled  on  Death's  dim-lighted,  lonely  shore. 


C 


THE  SPIRIT'S  REALM 

VvHO  dares  to  deem  that  on  some  new  far  day 
The  doors  now  locked  will  then  be  opened  wide, 
Wherethrough  the  Nymphs  of  Knowledge,  big  with 

pride, 

Will  pass  triumphant  on  their  certain  way  ? 
But  were  this  to  its  roots  achieved,  could  they 
Explore  the  region  where  the  Muses  bide, 
Or  from  the  bosom  of  the  spirit's  tide 
Its  secrets  in  the  hands  of  Science  lay  ? 

The  grief  which  stirs  the  billows  of  the  breast, 
Like  that  sweet  sympathy  which  gives  them  rest, 
Defies  the  cunning  of  the  weigher's  scales : 
The  Spirit  lives  where  grossness  cannot  come, 
And  there  the  Soul,  tormented  by  its  ails, 
Hears  saving  voices  when  the  rest  are  dumb. 


C  I04 


RELIGION 

JTvELIGION,  warder  of  the  earthly  scene, 
Sways  her  great  sceptre  o'er  the  heart  of  things, 
And  on  the  grievous  wound  her  mantle  flings, 
When  dark  Despair  unlades  his  heavy  teen. 
Her  gentle  ministrants,  with  power  serene, 
Bear  the  struck  soul  on  softly  muffled  wings 
To  where  real  life  with  heavenly  music  sings, 
And  where  spread  worlds  of  everlasting  green. 

God  reigns,  no  matter  what  the  fool  may  say, 
And  when  we  learn  with  all  our  souls  to  pray, 
We  then  to  Him  in  closest  bonds  are  bound. 
Science  can  satisfy  our  body's  needs, 
But  'tis  Religion,  with  her  graces  crowned, 
That  all  the  hungers  of  the  Spirit  feeds. 


C 


COMPLETENESS 

L/EATH  never  dies,  nor  Life,  but  as  a  pair, 

Inseparably  twinned,  they  ever  hold 

The  Universe's  myriads,  young  and  old, 

Within  the  ministrations  of  their  care. 

The  death-reaped  soul,  that  did  the  burdens  bear 

Of  service  dearer  than  the  dearest  gold, 

Lies  not  in  some  dark,  life-defying  fold, 

But  mid  the  glories  of  celestial  air. 

Yea,  even  the  smallest  atom  never  dies 
But  Life  triumphant  to  its  deathbed  flies, 
As  in  the  grief-drawn  tear  there  sleeps  a  smile. 
Change  is  Creation's  wonder-breathing  soul, 
And  ceaseless  toils,  well  knowing  all  the  while 
Divine  Completeness  is  the  destined  goal. 


C  '063 


BELIEF 

OCIENCE  and  Intellect  all  proudly  soar 
To  every  height  that  challenges  the  eye, 
And  in  the  shallows  and  the  ocean  pry 
For  wealth  to  swell  their  still  increasing  store. 
The  deepest  secret  would  they  not  pass  o'er, 
Nor  any  problem  howsoever  high, 
And  e'en  the  Universe's  heart  they  try, 
Its  very  dearest  chambers  to  explore. 

But  all  experiment  and  logic  fail 
Against  the  mystic,  spirit-woven  veil 
Which  hangs  before  all  Being's  inner  shrine : 
The  eye  of  Science  sees  man  as  a  clod, 
While  all  his  voices  hail  him  the  divine, 
Immortal  subject  of  Almighty  God. 


C 


LIFE  AND  DEATH 

IT  is  decreed  all  things  shall  have  an  end, 
E'en  loveliest  forms  with  beauty  all  endued, 
Yet  with  what  agony  we  oft  have  sued 
Relentless  Death  his  arrow  not  to  send. 
Ah,  Life  would  thus  its  energies  expend 
Upon  the  hopes  that  blossom  to  delude, 
For  it  would  grow  to  baneful  plenitude 
If  kindly  Death  did  not  its  service  lend. 

These  are  two  angels  who  with  ministering  care 
Bestow  their  gifts  in  even-handed  share 
According  to  the  just,  eternal  Will; 
And  in  the  spirit-haunted,  boundless  space 
How  can  we  doubt  that  every  seeming  ill 
Shall  in  the  end  all  blessedness  embrace  *? 


C  108 


MONSTER  OR  GOD 

1 T  may  be  that  some  demon,  past  all  peers, 
That  no  imagination  could  portray, 
Has  infinite  power  to  torture  or  to  slay, 
Still  keeping  brimmed  his  reservoir  of  tears ; 
One  who  commands  the  reins  of  all  the  spheres, 
And  drives  them  through  the  hells  of  havoc's  play, 
As  meaningless  as  would  be  this  our  day, 
If  on  the  earth  were  ended  Life's  careers. 

'Tis  monster  then  or  God — a  power  divine 
That  bears  Completeness  as  its  sacred  sign, 
Or  vast  confusion  of  chaotic  death ; 
And  through  the  thinning  mist  of  Doubt  we  hear 
Faith's  tenderly  compelling  voice  that  saith, 
Come  now  with  me  and  cast  away  all  fear. 


I09 


„%  OF  THIS  BOOK  TWO  HUNDRED  COPIES 

WERE  PRINTED  IN  THE  MONTH  OF  APRIL 

NINETEEN  HUNDRED  £ff  TWENTY 

BY  TAYLOR  &  TAYLOR 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


_1S_LLH9 

U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


?*& 

c 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


